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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24261955">Whisky Tango</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purebloodpony/pseuds/Purebloodpony'>Purebloodpony</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canonical Character Death, Domestic Violence, F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:49:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>44,080</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24261955</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purebloodpony/pseuds/Purebloodpony</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>For Antonin Dolohov, the conditions of his parole dictated public service at Saint Mungos for a year. He's putting his life back together after a youth spent in prison. Everything appears to be falling into place. That is until one night on a shift in the Emergency Department he comes face to face with Hermione Weasley and the maelstrom she's created. She's lost everything, desperate to find and restore her parent's memories Antonin may well be her last chance.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Antonin Dolohov/Hermione Granger, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>172</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>189</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Darkness Reigns: A World Cast in Shadow</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">



        <li>In response to a prompt by
            Anonymous in the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Darkness_Reigns_2020">Darkness_Reigns_2020</a>
          collection.
        </li>
    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>
  <strong>Prompt:</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>As part of his sentence against warcrimes Antonin has to use his charms talents to help restore Hermione's parents memories. </p><p>Not trusting the Death Eater alone Harry and Ginny go with them. </p><p>During this time of reckless peace can a truce be made between enemies? Can love bloom from hate? What happens when Darkness falls for Light?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A/N; A big thank you to my Alpha Lioness_Snake for all of your help and my Ravenclaw friend for all of your input. This is a dark story with lots of adult situations. Multiple tags that reveal the story are against my religion.</p><p> </p><p>Whisky Tango</p><p>Whiskey Tango, from the top<br/>
I will blow your mind, I just can't stop<br/>
Burn a candle in my name<br/>
You can bury me with all my shame<br/>
By; Jack Savoretti</p><p> </p><p>Chapter one</p><p>Crashing waves, with a biting wind off the ocean brought Antonin back to the belly of the beast. Once again, the mattress in his nice warm flat turned to frozen granite, howling winds changed to screams of souls he alone tortured. They lurked in the shadows, taunting him with hollow stares. Forced to relive each murder. Each one chipped away at his soul. He felt the darkness threading itself through what was left of him, creeping up from the cold floor. With nowhere to hide, nowhere to run, Antonin faced each ghost, killing them over and over.</p><p>Bolting upright, sheets tangled around his legs, body in a cold sweat. His heart pounding in his chest. Chilled to the bone. His hand went to the nightstand grasping for his wand. Sighing with relief as he gripped the wood exactly where he left it. Minutes ticked by while he sat in the dark, clutching his wand. Slowing his breathing returned to normal as he waited for his heart to stop pounding in his chest. Whispering Lumos, he turned on the lights, all of them. Swung his legs to the side of the bed, he needed a drink.</p><p>The bottle of whiskey lay empty on its side on the nightstand, toppling to the floor as he reached for the half-smoked cigarette from the tray, fingers still shaking. Another icy blast of wind blew through the open window, bringing the dregs of the nightmare with its revolving door of madness. He could almost smell the rotting stench of death from the Dementors. Half wondering if he had gone crazy, his mind trapped in a loop. He approached the window feeling the darkness reach out, tendrils beckoning. All too easy to slip back into the abyss…</p><p>He promised himself that it wouldn't happen again, he'd never let it take over, not like before. If he let the darkness in again, there would no going back. He stood at the open window blowing smoke rings into the night. The whiskey didn't stave off the dreams as it did initially, now it seemed to be making things worse. He'd fucked up the first half of his adult life by tying himself to a madman. They all had. Now there was a chance he could do something meaningful, maybe even right a few wrongs.</p><p>He left the windows open before passing out last night, anxiety paired with whiskey made him hot. This also explained the lack of clothing. He ran a hand through his dark hair, damp and sticking to his neck. A hot shower won out over the drink, he caught his reflection in the mirror, pausing. He was getting too old for this shit. At forty-five, Antonin was still on the young end for a wizard, but twenty years in Azkaban had a way of aging a man. His beard felt a bit long, he couldn't remember the last time he'd even trimmed it, five or six days, maybe a week or more. Tomorrow he would clean up his beard. Tonight, a shower would suffice. He turned the hot water tap on, adding just enough cold to keep him from being scalded. Steam rose as Antonin stepped under the stream. Hot water untying the knots in the muscles on his back, warmth slowly seeping into his bones bringing him back from that desolate rock. Emerging only when the water cooled. His hands still trembling as he pulled on a soft green jumper with his favorite pair of loose flannel bottoms. He hated that his hands shook. He needed to stop drinking so bloody much.</p><p>The clock on the wall showed three in the morning. Antonin sat at the corner table. Soft blue light filled the kitchen of the little flat. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves pouring himself another glass of whiskey. Another smoke, maybe he could get a bit more sleep.</p><p>He needed to move, preferably to the south of Italy or maybe the States, somewhere warm and where no one knew his name. But that was just a dream, he was on probation, for a very long time. He didn't have to be in Blyth on the cold North Coast. This was just the last place anyone would expect him to be. In a muggle flat above a book shop. It was quiet, people left him alone.</p><p>The entrance at the side enabled him to come and go as he pleased, apparating easily from the alley.</p><p>Curtains above the sink billowed, as the patter of raindrops in the gutter drew him out of his head. He needed to close the windows before he froze to death. Although freezing to death would be a blessing. An end to the numbness that already threatened to drown him. One month of freedom, and what had he accomplished? Besides being drunk, while letting the nightmares consume him, nothing.</p><p>Last week his WPS officer mentioned he would need to see a mind healer. Wasn't that a load of Abraxan shite. He wasn't crazy, they tested him before they let him out. The appointment was set for tomorrow. Although he originally planned on blowing it off. At least for another week or two.</p><p>Then there was the required community service portion of his sentence. Something to do with muggles and magical accident repairs. He was bored after four weeks of doing nothing anyway. There had to be more than just this. He needed a distraction, needed to feel alive again. Instead of wasting away in this little flat, drunk on top of going crazy. The only difference between this and Azkaban was the whiskey with the occasional witch. Antonin stood up going to the window, he stared out into the darkness, rain hitting his face. Listening to the never-ending sound of crashing waves. If he didn't do something now to change the scenery, he would go mad. He took a deep breath of ocean air as he closed the window. He closed all the windows, lit a fire, and went back to bed.</p><p>Antonin lay back, listening to the rain, a sliver of hope flickered in his heart. Tomorrow he would make changes. He would go to the appointment. How bad could it be?</p><p>****************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************</p><p>Muggle trash collectors woke him early, Antonin groaned, dragging himself out of bed. He stumbled into his kitchen. He needed his wand to start the coffee brewing, it irritated him. Something so mundane, he still needed a wand. Feeding himself proved to be an adventure all on its own. But he could manage simple things like eggs and toast, anything more he just went down the street to the pub. Not caring that it would be packed with muggles. Chuckling to himself, he downed a sober up potion before checking out his wardrobe situation.</p><p>After another hot shower, Antonin dressed, downed more coffee. Before he changed his mind or lost his nerve he grabbed a handful of floo powder calling out the probation office. Stepping out at exactly Nine o'clock, and into a stuffy office. His WPS officer sat toward the far wall behind his desk, shoving the remains of his breakfast into his mouth, "Right on time, Mr. Dolohov. I'll admit I had some doubts as to if you'd show," The fat little man raised an eyebrow at him, "I've arranged for the trip to Saint Mungos you may apparate from here if you like." He gestured for Antonin to sit, "Can I get you anything tea? Coffee?"<br/>
Antonin crossed the room pulling up a chair to the desk, "I'll take a coffee, black." He didn't want to stay long, sweat built around his collar, he wasn't used to the heat. This office felt stifling, claustrophobia clawing its way to the surface. Alcohol leached from his pores sending a wave of disgust over him. He really had lost control. That wasn't something he liked to admit, not even to himself.</p><p>"Right, Ashly bring us two coffees," He called out to his secretary, "Now, we have a bit of paperwork to go over and some details to cover." He was well organized and had Antonin's records out, sliding them in his direction, "Look over these and sign at the bottom. You have one session a week for the minimum of one year with a Ministry appointed therapist."<br/>
The fat man looked at Antonin as if he expected a protest. When he didn't get one, he continued, "Community service will be performed at Saint Mungo's as well, twelve-hour shifts three days a week. For a total of one thousand seven hundred and twenty-eight hours. One year to be exact." Silence hung heavy in the room. The little fat man started to sweat. Antonin could see it beading on the man's forehead.</p><p>"Do I make you nervous, Mr. Abbott?" Antonin kept his voice soft, trying his best to not be predatory. Being locked in a box for twenty years didn't help. Maybe that's why they mandated the counseling, "I'm sorry, Mr. Abbott, I'm not trying to scare you." Antonin chuckled, scratched his head as he leaned forward to sign the contract, "Are we keeping our weekly meeting then?" He sincerely hoped not, he hated this office. From the tacky wallpaper to the outdated shag carpet that somehow smelled of cat piss and bad curry.<br/>
"I don't think it's necessary, I'll get updates from your supervisors at Saint Mungo's. But if you ever feel that you need to speak with me, feel free to send me an owl." Abbott handed him a slip of paper with the office number written down, "It's on the fourth floor, Mr. Dolohov, and good luck."</p><p>Antonin downed his coffee and took the directions, "Thank you, Mr. Abbott," He nodded, stepping away from the desk, apparating on the turn of his heel.</p><p>Landing at the entrance of Saint Mungos. Antonin lit a cigarette while he paced nervously in front of the dilapidated building. Spotting a blackbird perched on the awning, he stopped to watch the little bird, "They think I'm crazy, I'm not. But then I'm standing out here talking to a bird, so maybe they're right," He leaned back, taking a long drag from the cigarette, "What do you think little bird? Am I mad? Have I gone as mad as a hatter?" Thinking back on a muggle book he once read, he chuckled to himself, "I'll tell you a secret little bird. All the best people are."</p><p>As much as he desperately needed a drink, he took a sip of sober-up potion instead. Nodding to the blackbird, he snuffed out the smoke before touching the red bricked-over window. This opened into the main lobby. He approached the information desk patiently waiting for the young receptionist to acknowledge him. Antonin scanned the room. Bored looking witches and wizards sparsely populated the lobby. Relaxing when he didn't recognize anyone. He tapped the counter with an anxious finger, smiling at the pink-haired witch behind the desk.</p><p>"Welcome to Saint Mungos. What are we seeing you for today, Sir?"</p><p>"Suite four twelve,"</p><p>"Go to the lift and get off on the fourth floor, take the hallway to the left, it will be the sixth door on the left-hand side."</p><p>He mumbled a thank you as he headed to the lift. The doors opened filling rapidly with visitors, Antonin hesitated then stepped back, he couldn't do it. Too small of a space, bodies pushing against him. Anxiety poured over him. His hands began to shake, he hated when they shook. People were staring, waiting for him to get in the lift. More people behind him shoved their way in taking him with them. Blood pounded in his ears, too many people in such a small space. He couldn't breathe. They were touching him, bumping into him. He closed his eyes, counting the floors as they stopped. He fought the urge to bolt from the lift, breathe in, breathe out. Maybe they were right. He did need therapy. The lift dinged announcing his stop, Antonin bolted, shoving a healer out of the way. Just in time to vomit into a rubbish bin.</p><p>Outside the claustrophobic box of pure torture, he took a deep breath, straightening his cloak. He took a sip of the sobering potion, swishing to get rid of the taste of bile. So much for being the badass Death Eater, he just about pissed himself in a lift. He needed to pull himself together. Five minutes was all he needed. He ducked into the first door, it looked like an activity room anyway.</p><p>Patients milled about the room. Not paying much mind to the strange man in dark blue robes. Antonin slipped in and grabbed a chair near the door.</p><p>From here, he could survey the room. Breathe in and out, as he sipped at the potion in his flask. That's when he caught<br/>
sight of long dark hair and a familiar face. He thought she'd have died by now, her and her husband. No one could have survived that kind of torture.</p><p>He watched her from his table, playing with small toys, singing to herself. She looked up at him, recognition crossed her face, she came to stand in front of him, taking his hand in hers she sat next to him still humming her little tune.</p><p>Alice Longbottom looked him in the eye, taking him back to the night so long ago. A dark alley in Hogsmeade with Bella, and the Lestrange brothers and Barty Crouch Jr. A sliver of moon hung high in that November sky, cold and clear. They apparated to Hogsmeade, angry at the fall of the Dark Lord, looking for a drink and a fight.</p><p>Antonin was there, he could make no excuses, he was a full participant in her torture. Screaming is what he remembered the most, bones cracking under the curses, blood leaked from every orifice. He had grabbed her by the throat, shoving her against a wall. He could feel the concrete scraping his knuckles, he scared her so badly she'd pissed herself. "I have a baby," she whispered to him, pleading. She had begged through tears to spare her life.</p><p>What the bloody fuck was wrong with him? He'd spared her life alright, laughed in her face, and stole her mind. Caught up in the blood lust was not an excuse. Thinking back now, he couldn't even remember why they tortured the couple. It now felt so senseless. She was just an Auror, her and her husband, caught at the wrong place at the wrong time. He had only gone along for a drink. The entire incident would never have happened had they left Bella at home.</p><p>Antonin sat next to Alice quietly holding her hand, she never spoke. Instead, she hummed a song that sounded vaguely familiar, haunting. If she did recognize him, it never showed. Her warm hand in his, he found oddly comforting.</p><p>He could still hear Bella cackling, cheering them on as he sent curse after curse at her battered body.</p><p>Alice smiled at him, patted his hand, and pressed a stick of chewing gum into the palm before standing up. He watched her walked away, still humming her little song.</p><p>"She likes you."</p><p>Antonin looked over at the young woman that spoke, "Why do you say that?"</p><p>"She only gives gum to the people she likes," The young healer pointed at the gum still in his hand, "I haven't seen you around, are you, family or friend?"</p><p>"Neither, I'm sorry I have an appointment down the hall," Antonin stood up, turning for the door.</p><p>"Please feel free to visit any time," She called after him. He heard her, but had no intention of ever setting foot in the room again. It never seemed to fail. There were just too many ghosts.</p><p>The interaction left him hollow, heavy-hearted in the same way the Dementors left him. He was numb by the time he reached the door to the therapist's office. The poison of sadness leached its way into his heart, he couldn't unsee Alice. The tune she hummed stuck in his head the loneliness in her eyes the stick of gum still in his hand. It was too much. He quickly stuck the gum in a pocket in his cloak. With a shaking hand, Antonin pulled the door open. Now he really needed to pull himself together.</p><p>Soft music piped into the empty waiting room, Antonin walked to the counter. The older witch looked up from her paperwork, "Good morning Mr. Dolohov, we were all hoping to see you," She pulled a quill from the grey bun on the top of her head. She stared over her horn-rimmed glasses, "Have a seat, and Healer Jacobs will be with you." He watched her take a note, tap it with her wand, and it zoomed into the next room.</p><p>He was nauseated, anxiety pecked at the back of his brain, threatening to take over, pacing the room wasn't helping. The receptionist's lips were moving, but the sound in the room muted. He knew he looked confused, rattled, a wizard on the edge of madness. With his sanity already being brought to question. He picked a chair and sat, "I beg your pardon madame… I didn't hear……"</p><p>"That alright dear, I asked if I could get you a tea?" She had a kind smile reminiscent of his grandmother.</p><p>"Yes, please. Tea would nice, thank you."Tea would calm his nerves get the taste of vomit out of his mouth. He took the levitated cup, sipping at the hot liquid. It did help, although he would have preferred a whisky.</p><p>"Mr. Dolohov."</p><p>Antonin looked up at the sound of his name, "Healer Jacobs," A petite witch stood in the doorway. Her robes, a dark green, sandy blond hair touched her shoulders, with a smile that reached all the way to her bright green eyes. Not what he expected a mind healer to look like. But then he had no reference to go by. She looked so young.<br/>
"Please call me Patricia, come in….please."<br/>
Antonin stood, fidgeting with his cloak, "Antonin then... Patricia, it's nice to meet you. I think I'm not sure how this is supposed to go." He was off-balance with uncertainty, sober for the first time in almost a month, treading in unknown territory. His stance shifted, fighting down the fight or flight reaction that threatened to bubble to the surface.<br/>
Healer Jacobs held open the door to her office, "Come inside, have a seat, and another cup of tea. I just want to talk."<br/>
Hesitantly he moved into her office, again not what he expected. Floor to ceiling windows overlooking London, with a view of the river. He chose the overstuffed sofa, letting her refill his cup.</p><p>Patricia sat across from him in a simple but comfortable looking chair, her own tea in hand, "Tell me, Antonin. What is it you would like from these meetings?"</p><p>"I'm mandated by the Ministry to be here" He snorted, it was defensive, and he knew it.</p><p>"I know that it's mandated Antonin, but now that you're here, what is it that you want?"</p><p>"What do I want?" He wanted to go home and have a drink is what he wanted, "You want the truth? I want some potions. I need something to sleep."</p><p>She was shaken at his bold statement, "I think we need a few more meetings before we talk about potions, Antonin." She closed his file that lay in her lap and crossed her legs.</p><p>"Look, do you want me to be honest here?" He was getting angry, a waste of his time.</p><p>"Yes, I want you to be honest."</p><p>"I have panic attacks, I freaked out in the lift, and I puked in a trash bin on the way in here… I go days with no sleep until I drink myself into a bloody fucking coma. I wouldn't ask if I didn't think I needed it." He was over this meeting, with no way out, it was mandated. Going back to Azkaban, not an option. He took a deep breath and settled back into the sofa and sipping at his tea until his anger ebbed.</p><p>"Alright, so let's talk. Tell me how you're adjusting."</p><p>"Adjusting to what?" And the snark crept back.</p><p>"Adjusting to your new life? Antonin, adjusting to your freedom. You've spent half your life in Azkaban, enduring what I imagine to be horrific conditions."</p><p>"What you imagine wouldn't come close to the shite I've endured little girl," Anger bubbled over, "You think you know me and what I've been through?"</p><p>"No, Antonin, I would never presume," She let him flare, keeping her calm demeanor. Her voice lowering as his rose, "Are you adjusting?"</p><p>"If you call adjusting, drinking myself to sleep every night to stop the nightmares adjusting. Well, then, I guess I am." Antonin's hand trembled, and he quickly set the cup down in an attempt to hide it then changed his mind. She wanted honesty he would give her honest, "They never use to do this," He held his trembling hand out for her to see, still angry, "Does this look like I'm adjusting?" He was breathing hard, and on edge, venom tinged his words, "Tell me Patricia have you ever sat at a table with mass murders, crazy mass murders? Witches and Wizards that kill and torture with zero remorse. Have you? Because I have and I'm going to tell you, Patricia. Even though my heart raced, my hands, steady. So, I'm going to ask you Patricia does this look like I'm adjusting well. What do you think?"</p><p>"I can give you a potion to help with the anxiety and to sleep." She pointed her wand at the desk in the corner. Her quill hovered, waiting for the dictation to begin, "How often do you drink?" She stared, waiting for his answer, the quill scratching out his prescriptions.</p><p>"Since leaving Azkaban, every day, all day up until this morning," He was on a roll with the honesty why stop now, "You know I used to sit at his right-side Patricia. I was one of his most devoted soldiers. I loved him as much as I hated him." Antonin leaned back, balancing the teacup on a crossed knee, "The things I did I will never be forgiven for, I live with those decisions every day. I just need something to take the edge off, to help me get through the day without having to be completely pissed."</p><p>"You have community service here at the hospital, I understand." Patricia levitated the prescriptions into an open hand, looked them over, before she handed them to him, "These should help. I'll start you on these three. One is for anxiety, this one for the sleep, and this last one is for detox from alcohol." She leaned forward, placing a hand on his leg, "The Apothecary downstairs will fill these. Now, we'll meet again on Friday before you start your shift."</p><p>"Ahh, yes, the shift," Antonin smirked at her this time, "Where am I to go for this shift?" He stood and adjusted his cloak, handing her the empty teacup.</p><p>"Just two doors down, Antonin. As I understand, you are quite talented at curse-breaking, as well as creating. The Parole office felt you would be able to do the most good in the spell damaged department. Perhaps with your expertise, some of our patients could be cured."</p><p>Antonin laughed out loud, "You have lofty expectations from a wizard that's spent half his life locked up… My magic Patricia I'm afraid is a bit rusty,"</p><p>"It may be rusty, Antonin, but you know as well as I do that you are and always have been an extremely powerful wizard, Mr. Dolohov." She stood up and took Antonin by the hand, "We are not expecting miracles over-night. We'll go slow, let you get your feet wet… I'm on your side Antonin, we do this one day at a time."</p><p>Antonin moved to the exit, "Two doors down?"</p><p>"Ask for Mr. Moreland… I'll see you Friday," Bidding him a farewell from her office.</p><p>Antonin looked down at the slips of paper, he would fill them before he left for home. He liked Patricia, she didn't scare easily, she kept her cool when he lost his. He supposed this therapy thing might work. Besides, he had nothing left to lose. Now onward to face some of the demons from his past. How many patients were there because of him? His curses stuck, they were wicked and creative, if they didn't kill you, they sure the fuck put you in Janus Thickey's Ward. So that was their game, he thought. Penance, repairing what he destroyed.</p><p>Mr. Moreland's office sat two doors down, just as Patricia said. Antonin gave a sharp rap on the frame. The man's voice beckoned him inside.</p><p>"Good morning Mr. Dolohov," Mr. Morland stood from behind his desk. A jovial man, balding head, heavyset with well-tailored robes in the bright green of a Healer, "It is a pleasure to meet you, we are pleased to have you join us. Have a seat, dear boy, please have a seat… can I get you anything?" He motioned for Antonin to sit.</p><p>Slightly taken back by the man's friendliness. Mr. Moreland smiled, motioning again at the chair. The behavior from the older wizard threw him off-kilter.</p><p>A stack of paperwork sat before him. Mr. Moreland handed over a black quill, "We'll get all these formalities out of the way and then we can get you your uniforms and a badge before lunch,"</p><p>"Uniform? You mean I'm actually touching patients?" Now that shocked him a little more, "Not just consulting."</p><p>"For the first six months, we'll have you working with another Healer. "Antonin noticed Mr. Moreland seemed to take pleasure in this fact.</p><p>"Come along, Mr. Dolohov, I'd like to introduce you to your preceptor, and we'll all go down for lunch."</p><p>Antonin signed his name a dozen times before he could change his mind. His new boss ushered him down another hallway to little room. An elf behind the counter handed him three sets of lime green robes. A flash went off, as another elf gave him a badge. It all felt so surreal. A long time ago, this is what he was destined for, the life of a Healer. He clipped the badge on the front of his robes as he followed Mr. Morland to the hospital café. His preceptor would meet them downstairs.</p><p>Antonin kept his anxiety in check as they took the lift to the bottom floor. Biting his cheek, white-knuckling the rail on the wall. The last thing he wanted to do was vomit in front of his new boss or the twenty-five- year- old preceptor Padma Patil. She was sweet, polite and young enough to be his daughter.</p><p>The grand tour began in the waiting room of the Emergency Department. Ending in the café. Somewhere in between Antonin dropped off his prescriptions, thinking he'd be lucky if he found the place again. Lunch was simple, as his stomach still felt sour from this morning. He picked at his beans on toast, his back to the wall, listening to the conversation of his two companions.</p><p>Mr. Moreland knew his father. Of course, he would know his father. They had been co-workers. Moreland, he remembered now, co-authored one of his father's last books. It all started to make sense as the pieces fell into place. Ms. Patel, it seemed she was a huge fan of the Senior Dolohov, quoting passages from one of his books throughout lunch.</p><p>"Mr. Dolohov?" Padma smiled at him, "It was lovely to meet you, I will see you tomorrow morning at Healer Moreland's office. I'm really looking forward to working with you."</p><p>"Likewise, Ms. Patil," Her quiet demeanor along with her lack of disdain made the prospect of tomorrow less anxiety-inducing. His hands twitched, the beginning of a wicked headache pushed behind his eyes.</p><p>"Mr. Dolohov," Moreland touched his hand, "Antonin, it's been a long day, why don't you head home. I'll see you tomorrow."</p><p>"Thank you, Sir, I'll see in the morning," Antonin stood up. He made his way back through the crowded café. Thankful for his father's old friend and thinking his probation assignment may have been planned out more than he initially imagined.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A/N; This is a slow burn I hope you're enjoying my Antonin. He's really trying to be a good boy. Big thanks to my Alpha/ Beta Lioness_Snake she does a really great job at making this readable.</p><p> </p><p>Chapter Two</p><p>Blackbird</p><p>The Beatles<br/>
Blackbird singing in the dead of night<br/>
Take these broken wings and learn to fly<br/>
All your life</p><p> </p><p>Chapter Two<br/>
Antonin picked up the prescriptions, listened to the Potion Master with his list of instructions before knocking back the one for anxiety. The heavy blanket slipped off, he felt he could breathe again. Next, he downed the potion to curb his urge to drink. He should have been put on these potions when they released him. It made apparating so much easier. Antonin chose to walk the last few blocks to his flat. He pulled off his cloak folding it over his arm. Not wanting to attract any unwanted attention from the muggles.</p><p>As he walked along the boardwalk of Blyth Harbor, he hummed the tune he heard from Alice that afternoon. It sounded so familiar. He couldn’t get it out of his head. He couldn’t get Alice out of his head. As a matter of fact he hadn’t thought of that night in years until today.</p><p>Sitting in the hospital holding hands with Alice stirred up old memories. Unpleasant memories, but this path was about redemption, making a better life for himself. Not wasting away, he managed to do that with his youth. As prepared as he felt for the uphill battle, he still had doubts.</p><p>Antonin came to a small café. His stomach growled, the smell of fish frying quickly drew him in. The beans and toast he had for lunch didn’t stick with him. He chose a small table by the window overlooking the bay. Few muggles visited this time of year while the harbor held just a few fishing boats. The gulls swooped, diving for fish, or begging the muggles for a handout. The soft breeze off the water kept it from being too hot. While a bank of fog hung on the horizon. He hoped it would soon roll in, covering the little town in water-color hues of blue that soothed him.</p><p>The waitress came over to take his order, then left Antonin to sit peacefully, waiting for his meal. A blackbird landed on the railing outside. Antonin would swear it was the same one from the hospital. The song tickled his brain when it occurred to him where he heard it before. He chuckled to himself, singing the first few lines, “Blackbird singing in the dead of night….. Take these broken wings and learn to fly…….”</p><p>“That’s the song, little bird, the one that’s been driving me barking mad all bloody day.” The bird stared back with inquisitive eyes. Flying off as Antonin’s food arrived. Crispy planks of thick cod that he doused in malted vinegar with a heavy dose of salt, fat wedges of fried potatoes with creamy mashed peas. Topping it off with a dark ale. Muggle beer, but he didn’t care. He was hungry.</p><p>With a full belly, he made his way home. Popping into a stationary shop nearby before going upstairs. Back to the little flat, where Antonin pulled the uniforms from a pocket of his robes before hanging them up. Using his wand to tidy the wrinkles. A hot shower felt in order. It was nice to wash the day away. A thing so mundane that brought such pleasure. He promised himself to never take the little things for granted.</p><p>He opened the window overlooking the bay, brewed himself a cup of tea, picking a book from the shelf. One of his father’s books to be exact, one he hadn’t read in a very long time. He pulled two more as he settled in to study for the evening. Conjuring up a small desk, he gathered the rest of his materials. Quills and notebooks he purchased earlier. He wanted to take notes, being prepared had always been something he prided himself in doing.</p><p>Antonin studied abroad as a healer and came close, just six months shy of completing his Master in Healing. What should have happened, what actually came to be would always be a regret. Leaving nothing left now but to go forward. He cracked the first book open, taking notes as he went. It felt good to exercise his mind. The spells returned faster than he expected. Simple healing charms came flooding back.</p><p>Deep in Magical Auras and Anatomy, he heard a tweet. His little friend was back, “Now I know you’re following me,” Antonin smiled, offering the little bird crumbs from a biscuit, “There you go, You liked my singing did you?” Antonin flicked his wand turning on the old radio in the corner. The Beatles Blackbird played softly while Antonin hummed along, feeding the bird, as he reviewed his texts.</p><p>Fog rolled in like it always did, and his bird friend flew off, leaving Antonin alone for the evening. He shut the window before he lay back in his bed, he wanted to get a good night’s rest. The potions on the nightstand promised that he would, they hadn’t disappointed this far. It did make him anxious to take the sleeping potion, he didn’t want to be completely knocked out. But then again, how many nights had he been blacked out drunk? He decided to just take the one for sleep and wait on the others.</p><p>Three o’clock chimed, Antonin’s eyes popped open, he slept solidly for seven hours, that was a first for him. He tried to fall back to sleep, but the mind is a wondrous thing. Antonin thought about the witches and wizards soon to be his patients when, in fact, they were initially his victims. How many lived at Saint Mungos? Who would he start with? How could he make it all right? Too many questions to fall asleep again, his mind refused to relax and shut down. Now the clock chimed four. It was too late to fall asleep again. He did not want to be late for his first day. Instead, he took a small sip of the potion for anxiety before he hopped into the shower. There would never be enough hot water.</p><p>This morning with a clear mind, Antonin could make his coffee with a wordless charm. There was still a small shake to his hand as he ran a brush through his hair, but it settled when he went to trim his beard. Small steps forward, he heard his father’s words whenever he became anxious as a boy, ‘How do you climb a mountain Antonin? … One step at a time.’ It’s how he made it out half sane from Azkaban. One step at a time, one day at a time. He tended to get ahead of himself, fretting about how tall the mountain would be and forgetting to take the first step.</p><p>The new potions helped. Alcohol still leeched from his pores, but he no longer craved it. A muggle beer at lunch the day before but nothing after counted as a considerable improvement. As did seven hours of uninterrupted sleep. He was able to admire his reflection in the mirror this morning. The new lime green robes and shiny badge declaring a Healer in Training were a far cry from the prison garb he sported just a few weeks prior. Anxiety still tickled the back of his neck. They expected him to treat people he had wronged. Would they allow him to attempt to heal them? Again, his mind spun with too many questions. He sipped from the vial and tucked his wand in the holster at his sleeve. Only the day would tell, “One day at a time, one step at a time,” He told himself. Antonin straightened his robes and apparated to the employee entrance of Saint Mungos.</p><p>Conquering the second step involved taking the lift to his department. Padma Patil waited for him near the lift bouncing with excitement. Hooking her arm through his, she tugged him into the box, “Come on, Mr. Dolohov, I can’t wait to introduce you to our first patient.” He still felt apprehensive about the young Ms. Patil</p><p>“Already?” His shocked look caused Padma to giggle.</p><p>“I assumed you went home and studied. Once a Ravenclaw always a Ravenclaw.” She quirked one eyebrow.</p><p>The lift doors closed, and Antonin flinched, sucking in a breath. If Padma felt it, she chose to ignore it. Instead, she continued to engage him in conversation, “Ahh, you are correct Ms. Patil I did go home and study,” He gave her hand a squeeze.</p><p>“Always the Ravenclaw. Are you as well?” He asked, smiling as she nodded, “Hmm, I knew there was a reason I liked you from the start.”</p><p>“Mr. Moreland informed me you have six months left of your apprenticeship to complete. Of course, there have new discoveries in the last twenty years, but I’m certain you’ll catch up quickly. I thought we would start small with you assisting me on rounds. Then review charts. If I’m going too fast, Mr. Dolohov, please tell me. I don’t want to lose you, nor do I wish to treat you as a first-year Healer.” Padma kept her eye contact with him, a gentle hand on his arm.<br/>
The lift opened Padma continued the contact on his arm, “Thank you, Ms. Patel. I do appreciate the slower pace for now.” Her calm energy was comforting, Antonin relaxed as they stepped into the hall, making their way to Padma’s office. She wasn’t out to get him or set him up for failure, “Please call me Antonin, Mr. Dolohov sounds too much like my father.”</p><p>“Then you must call me Padma, don’t worry, Antonin, we’re going to have a wonderful day… I can feel it.”</p><p>ooOoo</p><p>Antonin’s first patient turned out to be a victim of an old friend, the curse spread rapidly up the man’s legs where it was stopped. Healers managed to hold it in containment. This was Yaxley’s signature curse. Not easy to fix for the average Healer. However, Antonin helped to create this little monster, so he was well aware of the counter-curse to remedy the affliction.</p><p>“Do you recognize this, Antonin?” Padma was looking at him, questioning.”</p><p>He thought about how much he wanted to divulge, deciding to keep most of his knowledge in check. It wasn’t wise to show all your cards, he could blame that on too many Slytherin friends.</p><p>“It does look familiar. May I try something?” Antonin thought he would start slow, reverse parts of the deterioration. Removing the pain, re-growing nerve endings. He found the tip of the gold thread swirling in the rotting flesh. A purple strand from his own wand grabbed hold, tugging. A gold ribbon began to unfurl from the man’s legs, curling on the ground like a dying worm.</p><p>“Antonin, what in Merlin’s name is that?” Padma stood behind him, peering over his shoulder.</p><p>“Get a container, don’t touch it with your hands.” Antonin continued to weave his healing spells on the man’s legs, “Have one of the nurses wrap his legs.”<br/>
“You get to write the orders Antonin,” She smiled at him and handed over a chart, “No Quick Quotes Quills for dictation either,” Padma smirked as she handed him a quill.</p><p>“Fine,” Antonin jotted down the instructions, “Mr. Morgan, you should be feeling much better in the next few hours.”</p><p>He turned to the nurse,” Contact me immediately if anything changes.” The nurse nodded in agreement, “Wet to dry, and I want them changed twice a day, use the Draconishydrogel salve on the holes.” Antonin took a deep breath, it felt good. His fears were slipping away, it was like riding a horse. He was back in the saddle.</p><p>Padma levitated the writhing mass of gold ribbon into a container and sealed the lid, “Looks like a worm of some sort,” She scrunched up her nose, “It smells awful.” Appearing sightless, it explored the inside of the jar, working its nose along the edges.</p><p>“It is awful, do we have a laboratory to secure it? Maybe study it a bit more.”</p><p>Padma looked surprised, “I thought you were familiar with this thing?”</p><p>“I am, but to be honest, I’ve never seen one this large,” Antonin poked at the jar. The worm inside struck, hitting the glass, coiling around itself. Curious as to how it knew where his finger was.</p><p>“Antonin, what is this thing?”</p><p>“A curse… sort of… and sort of a parasite. It’s complicated.”</p><p>“Yuck, follow me. I’ll show you to the lab.” She scrunched her nose.</p><p>Antonin carried the creature down the hall to the department laboratory. Setting his specimen down on a shelf, “No one will touch it, will they?”</p><p>“Gods no, you’re working with intelligent people Antonin,” Padma labeled the container with the patient’s name and Antonin’s as the Healer in charge.</p><p>His first day did turn out just as Padma predicted, Antonin felt exhausted and exhilarated at the same time. Once again, he had a purpose.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>ooOoo</p><p> </p><p>The first three weeks went by in a blur. Antonin found he needed his potions less and less. Work was a blessing, as well as a challenge. His mind, when unoccupied, had always been an enemy. The three twelve-hour shifts a week were required. Yet he found himself coming in on his days off to complete his clinical time. Focusing hard on catching up with the latest in medical developments. Some of the patients could be helped, some he just needed to come to terms with the fact no one could help. Antonin kept his mind occupied, giving little thought to Alice Longbottom or the little blackbird.</p><p>Grabbing a late lunch on a warm spring day. Antonin chose a table outside when a blackbird landed on the opposite chair, “Well, hello, friend.”</p><p>The little bird with yellow rimmed eyes chirped, Antonin, tossed him a chip, “Haven’t seen you in a while,” He wasn’t sure how he knew it was the same bird, instinct maybe, or perhaps he just hung out with Walden MacNair too much as a child. Walden had a way with all creatures of the wild, it rubbed off on those around him.</p><p>Antonin found himself humming again as he watched the bird eat. Bringing his thoughts back to Alice, “Little bird, I’ll see you later, I have someone to see,” He tossed the bird a few more chips before heading to the fourth floor.</p><p>First, he needed her chart. Seeing what the other Healers tried in the past, her condition upon arrival and if there was any indication of deterioration of the mind. Antonin knew how he left her, that memory was crystal clear. Entering the records department, he quickly found her chart and duplicated it. Tucking it away inside his cloak.</p><p>“There you are,” Padma looked in the direction of Alice’s chart, “Who’s that?”</p><p>He was growing very fond of Padma. Quick-witted and inquisitive, both traits he admired, “Alice Longbottom.”</p><p>“Hmmm, all the best Healers have tried, Antonin.”</p><p>“I haven’t,” He sounded awfully smug.</p><p>Padma snorted and raised an eyebrow.</p><p>“I don’t mean it like that… It’s just …”</p><p>“I know, I understand the connection, Antonin,” Padma looped her arm through his, leaning her head against his shoulder, “Give it go then.”</p><p>Antonin didn’t realize just how much he missed human contact. Alone for years in a cold dark prison surrounded by Dementors. In the beginning he flinched, bracing with every contact. Something Padma could feel and took it upon herself to touch him whenever she could. She reminded him that Healers needed to touch, and after several weeks of the ever-optimistic puppy, that was Padma. He stopped flinching, sinking into the warmth of her friendship—the first real friend he would say since Hogwarts.</p><p>Trusting anyone for Antonin proved to be a big step, or that’s what his therapist told him, “Help me then?” He asked Padma as they left records.</p><p>“Of course, I will. This might just get published, you know.”</p><p>“Let’s get started.” Antonin steered her down the hallway to the recreation room. He wanted to see Alice again. He wanted to observe her behavior from a distance. Their first interaction threw him off-kilter.</p><p>Alice sat near a window, humming to herself. Fiddling with a gum wrapper. Antonin and Padma pulled up chairs near the door, observing her. It wasn’t long before they were approached by the attendant, “Healer Dolohov, Healer Patil, what brings you to visit us?”</p><p>Antonin looked up, “I’m sorry, we should have asked first. Is it alright if we observe?”</p><p>The attendant looked flustered, “Oh no, no, please stay. You are both welcome, it’s just that these patients are the one’s no one seems to be concerned with… forgotten, incurable, terminal.”</p><p>Antonin pulled out a chair for the nurse, “May I ask a few questions?”</p><p>“Of course, go right ahead.” The nurse relaxed into the seat next to him. Her hands folded neatly on the table. Antonin still found it odd that his co-workers would be so comfortable with him. Healers were certainly an odd bunch.</p><p>“Do you mind if we take notes?” Padma smiled, her quill in hand.</p><p>Antonin learned fast, he reached over and placed his hand on the nurses. It made a connection. The nurse sighed, her shoulders relaxed, as she smiled at Antonin., “I’ve heard you and Healer Patel have made great progress, I’m happy you’ve taken an interest in the Longbottom’s.”</p><p>Antonin supposed he could look at Frank, he hadn’t really thought about her husband. Alice was his responsibility.</p><p>“I’m intrigued by Alice Longbottom. I’d like to familiarize myself with her case. Healer Patel and I may be able to help her. I’m not sure about her husband.” He didn’t have a clue as to where to start with Frank. Antonin wasn’t sure if he could fix what Bella did to the man.</p><p>The nurse squeezed his hand, “Thank you, Alice is special to me. I’ve cared for her and her husband for a very long time.”</p><p>“Does Alice ever speak?” Antonin was never charged for her torture, suspected but never charged. His time in prison had to do with the Prewett’s. Another loose end he wanted to tie up.</p><p>“No, she never speaks, just hums the same song over and over.”</p><p>“And Frank?”</p><p>“No, well, he did in the beginning. Now he’s low functioning. Bedbound, unable to speak, or even feed himself. We’re afraid he doesn’t have long to live.” The nurse’s eyes teared up.</p><p>“Would you like it if we took a look at Frank first?”</p><p>“Please, I’ll take you to him.” She dabbed her cheeks, pulling herself together, “Follow me, please.”</p><p>Antonin and Padma trailed behind, down past the offices to the ward where no one left. Antonin noticed the smell first, not of rot or decay but despair, akin to death row at Azkaban.</p><p>Frank Longbottom lay prone on a bed in the last room at the back of the ward. Pallid under the florescent lights, breath shallow, eyes staring into nothingness. Antonin took the chart from the second nurse. While Padma used her wand to run a set of diagnostics.</p><p>Sighing heavily, she moved to Antonin’s side, “Vital signs are weak. He’s tachypneic, hypotensive, and tachycardic. I’m not sure if there’s anything left we can do.”</p><p>Antonin set a hand on Frank’s forehead, slipping easily into his mind. It was dangerous to perform, and Antonin knew the risks. Frank’s mind appeared to him as a decrepit room, dark, full of dust, think cobwebs, broken floorboards, and boarded windows. Frank no longer occupied his mind from the looks of it, it had been vacant for an extremely long time. Antonin called out for Frank, hoping that he may just be hiding, but each room appeared the same, abandoned.</p><p>It was Antonin’s turn to sigh, “There’s nothing left, I’m afraid Frank no longer occupies his mind, I can’t find him. In the notes, it states the last time Legilimency was performed on Mr. Longbottom was roughly five years ago.”</p><p>“Shall we head back to the office?” Padma turned to leave.</p><p>“Who is his Healer?” Antonin asked the nurse.</p><p>“Healer Munro, shall I contact him?”</p><p>“No, I’ll talk with him. I don’t want to step on any toes,” The last thing he needed was to make enemies. So far, his co-workers were polite and professional, just as he wished to keep things.</p><p>Undecided as to if he should share his secrets with Padma. Antonin kept quiet as they returned to their shared office. It was what she would think of him after he divulged the truth about the Longbottom’s that he was worried about.</p><p>“You’re awfully quiet… Do you want to tell me?”</p><p>His favorite thing about Padma was how perceptive she could be, “Maybe… Do you want to hear the truth, or would you rather keep me on my pedestal?” Antonin smirked.</p><p>“Quit being an arse, I promise I won’t think less of you… I’ve read your file, Antonin I’m well aware of your past,” Padma rolled her eyes at him.</p><p>“I know, but this is different Padma, this wasn’t done in the heat of battle. This happened because two Aurors were in the wrong place at just the wrong time.” Antonin took a deep breath, “It was less than two days from when the Dark Lord fell. Barty and Rabastan asked if I want to join them for a drink in Hogsmeade. We were all drinking… heavily I might add. At some point in the night, Rodolphus and that crazy bint of a wife showed up. Bella was mad with grief, ranting, wailing, looking for blood,” He locked eyes with Padma.</p><p>“As we left the pub, the Longbottom’s rounded the corner. There wasn’t time for them to react before we were on them… Alice walked right into my arms, even apologized for bumping into me.”</p><p>Antonin sat at his desk across from Padma, “When the realization of who I was hit her, Padma, Alice pissed herself.” He took the mug of tea Padma offered, “She wasn’t the first person or even the last that I’ve done that too.”</p><p>Shadows darkened his eyes, “She didn’t scream, Alice whispered, soft as the breeze in my hair, She begged me, like a lover, pleaded with me to spare her,” Antonin’s voice cracked, but he kept talking.</p><p>“I knew she pissed herself because it was cold that night, and I felt it running warm against my leg and into my boot.” He left out the part that it made his cock hard.</p><p>Antonin opened the file, fidgeting with the pages, “I don’t remember what happened that night, not everything anyway. Just bits and pieces, nothing of what was done to Frank, just Alice. I don’t remember the spells. The things I remember are more visceral.”</p><p>Padma sat quietly listening. Never interrupting as he told his tale.</p><p>“I remember the taste of her tears, how she felt trembling in my arms, her voice against my cheek, every whimper, every tear…” His eyes shifted back to the folder until he felt Padma’s hand on his, “I tore her mind apart, I thought I killed her and instead, condemned her to a living hell…”</p><p>“But now you’re going to fix that. Aren’t you?” Padma squeezed his hand, “You did this, so you should be able to reverse the spells. From experience, I can tell you that you should have better luck repairing your own spell damage than anyone else.”</p><p>“You have evidence-based research on this, or is it a theory?” Antonin cocked an eyebrow.</p><p>“Alright, it’s a theory. I’ll research it a bit more. I’m going home. You should, too,” Padma gathered her belongings standing to leave, “Come on, Antonin, leave the demons here. We’ll tackle them in the morning.”</p><p>“I was never charged with her torture, Barty and Rabastan took the hit for that one. To be honest, Padma. It would have been kinder to kill her.” His mood turned even darker.</p><p>“You know that’s not true,” She admonished, “On that sober note, walk me out.” She was used to the moods, knowing how fragile Antonin was, frequently pulling him from the depths of a melancholy pool.</p><p>Antonin walked Padma to the floo network, “See you bright and early, have a wonderful evening.” He leaned down and chastely kissed her hand, he was a gentleman, a murdering bastard as well but still a gentleman.</p><p>“Rest Antonin, you can work tomorrow,” Padma said as she stepped into the floo calling out her address.</p><p>Antonin smiled at her disappearing form, waiting until she was gone before choosing to floo to the Leakey Cauldron, then a little walk down Knockturn Alley. He kept his head down, moving quickly. Away from the bustle of evening crowds looking for a pint after work. Antonin hoped after all the Ministry raids that his stash still existed. Down three blocks, to the alley, his footsteps the only sound in this part of Knockturn Alley. Half deserted after the war with its vacant buildings. Nefarious magic still clung to the shadows, watching him from the boarded-up windows.</p><p>He found the back entrance to the abandoned building, his hand tingling at the wards. They were his. Still, they held strong, dismantling them came easy, and he ducked inside. Climbing up the wooden staircase, each step creaked, Antonin kept his wand drawn prepared for any other creatures that might lurk in the darkness. He brushed aside the thick webs, careful of the holes in the floor. At the top of the building in the furthest room, behind blood wards that only he could open, Antonin found what he had hidden away so long ago.</p><p>He shrunk everything down, stuffing it in a pocket, then made his way back to the street. From there, he went to the bookstore, purchasing several healer texts. Rushing back to the Leaky. Making a point to greet a co-worker before ordering a big bowl of stew. He wanted to make sure he was seen having dinner. In case he was questioned as to why he was in Diagon Alley.</p><p>Apparating back to his flat, Antonin pulled the package from his cloak, setting it down on the table. Anxiety crept back up his throat, threatening to strangle him. Antonin steadied his breathing as he sat in the chair. If he were going to fix Alice, he would need to relive that night. The little wooden box taunted him, daring him to take the plunge, he re-enlarged the stone basin before opening the box to reveal the silver vials. He found the one he needed, pouring the contents in, he felt sick watching as it swirled, dancing in dark purple spirals.</p><p>Antonin pulled his darkest deeds from memory and hid them in that derelict building long ago. He had done it after killing the Prewetts, knowing the Auror’s were hot on his tail. There were too many witnesses, and he couldn’t just get rid of that memory, but he could get rid of some of the others. If the Ministry had known about his little box of horrors. It would have been the Dementors Kiss instead of the twenty years on a rock in the North Sea. Paroled with a cushy job at Saint Mungos.</p><p>“Fuck, down the rabbit hole,” He said to no one, and plunged his face into the icy basin. The need to help Alice over-rode the anxiety clawing at his gut. Just breathe, he told himself over and over. He opened his eyes to that cold, snowy night in Hogsmeade.</p><p>Padma was right. His spells caused the damage. He would need all of the details to undo what he had done.</p><p> </p><p>ooOoo</p><p> </p><p>Oblivate, a spell so subtle everyone had missed it. He erased her, all of her. All the way back to her childhood, scaring her so badly that Alice would not come out. Antonin would need to research her life up to that night as best he could, filling in the blanks. He enlisted Padma to interview the few surviving members of the Order, including Madame Longbottom. As she would be more inclined to curse him rather than speak to him.</p><p>Antonin sat at the table closest to the door, Padma next to him. Quietly observing Alice as she hummed her song while dancing by herself near a window. After a week of preparing, Antonin felt he was ready for the first session. He would let Alice come to him. They wouldn’t force her treatment, the last thing Antonin wanted was to scare her again.</p><p>Alice sat next to him, just as she had done on prior visits. Taking Antonin’s hand, she averted her eyes, humming her song. Antonin made eye contact, whispered the spell, slipping softly into her mind. He wasn’t sure how far he would get. She could panic, hurting herself or him in the process.</p><p>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br/>
The portrait guarding the Gryffindor common room formed in front of him. The Fat Lady glared, “No Ravenclaws allowed without a Gryffindor escort.”</p><p>It had been a long time since Antonin flirted with a woman, but he gave it his best, “Please, My Lady,” He turned on what Rabastan called the Smolder, “I just need to speak with Alice. I’ll stay in the common room, I promise…And technically, I will have a Gryffindor escort.” He could tell it was working. The Fat Lady blushed, fanning herself, “You could chaperone us if you like? But you might make Alice jealous of your radiant beauty…”</p><p>“Flattery will get you,” She started to admonish but changed her mind, “Oh, alright, go ahead dear. But behave yourself, young man,” She giggled like a schoolgirl as Antonin blew her a kiss, “So handsome.” She fluttered her fan while batting her eyes. She blew a kiss in return before opening the porthole.</p><p>Alice sat by the fire as her twelve-year-old self. A blackbird she had conjured perched on her finger, singing. Antonin crouched next to her, “That’s a pretty impressive piece of magic,” He smiled at the little girl, hoping he didn’t terrify her, “Can I sit next to you?”</p><p>Alice nodded, still not speaking. Antonin sank to the ground, sitting cross-legged next to her, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen the inside of Gryffindor House,” He surveyed the room with curiosity. It made sense that she would choose this place to hide.</p><p>“I don’t suppose a Slytherin would ever be invited,” Alice’s voice fell softly, unable to make eye contact. She conjured up two more blackbirds setting them flying around the room.</p><p>Antonin was taken aback by the sound of her voice, “No, of course not, but then again I’m a Ravenclaw. I had friends in all Houses. Don’t you?”</p><p>“Not Slytherin, but the other Houses, yes. My best friend is a Ravenclaw.”</p><p>As a fifth year, he paid little attention to second years and their friendships. He wondered who it was, “Alice, do you know who I am?”</p><p>“Yes,” Her eyes darted between his and the floor, “You scared me,” Alice whispered, chewing on a fingernail,<br/>
“I’m sorry about that, Alice. I want to fix that. I want to make it up to you.”</p><p>“It’s too late, no one can help me,” Tears trickled down her cheeks.</p><p>“Please, Alice, will you let me try?” He held out his hand, “I can be another Ravenclaw friend…”</p><p>“No! No… you scared me… you were mean to me,” Alice cried harder. She jumped to her feet, running down a long dark hall. The blackbirds trailing behind her.</p><p>Antonin followed, keeping his distance. Only one door stood ajar, he pushed it open gently. She reminded him of a skittish filly, he would need to move slow to progress.</p><p>“I know, I was mean I’m not mean anymore, I’m working really hard to not be a bad guy. Can you help me with that?” He needed her forgiveness to release her from the prison she created.</p><p>He entered the dorm room. The conjured birds sat on top of a bed, giving away her hiding spot.</p><p>“I’m scared,” The conjured blackbirds began to sing, “I’m scared you’ll hurt me again,” She called from under the bed.</p><p>“No one will ever hurt you like that again, Alice. There are people outside of this room that love you, they miss you. They want to see you again,” Antonin lowered himself to the floor, peering into the darkness.</p><p>“I have seen them. I just don’t remember them. I don’t know who they are.” Her voice echoed as she slipped into a hole of despair.</p><p>“What if I helped you to remember. Would you let me do that for you?” Antonin held out his hand for her to take once more.</p><p>“Will it hurt?”</p><p>“It might if it does all you have to do is tell me, and I’ll stop,” Antonin sighed with relief as her small fingers emerged from the darkness placing her hand in his.</p><p>ooOoo</p><p>The beginning of Alice’s journey back began, and slowly over the weeks, Antonin coaxed his skittish patient out of her shell. Saint Mungos respected Antonin’s request for anonymity. He wanted no recognition for righting his wrongs. Not wanting to draw attention to himself.</p><p>After her treatment Alice was able to properly say goodbye to her husband. Antonin tried everything but Frank was too far gone. She left the Janus Thickey Ward that day to bury her husband and go home.</p><p>His first six months flew by. Tomorrow night Antonin would begin his rotation in the Emergency Department alone.</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A/N; Buckle up buttercups the next two chapters deal with adult situations, please dress appropriately. Big thank you to my Alpha/Beta Lioness_Snake and my Ravenclaw friend. You guys are awesome. I would also like to add that this chapter covers some serious topics and if you are in this situation there is help and always a way out. My mailbox is open.</p><p> </p><p>We never talked about survival<br/>I don't know what good talking would've done<br/>My long lost revival<br/>Withered up in the adolescent sun<br/>Lost, let down<br/>I always let you burn me to the ground<br/>I am unwound<br/>I always let you burn me to the ground<br/>By John Moreland</p><p> </p><p>Chapter Three</p><p>The clock on the wall stuck three. Hermione lay silent in her bed, listening to her husband fumble through the front door. Ronald would be drunk. All she could do is pretend to be asleep, maybe just maybe he would leave her alone. He didn’t even try to be quiet anymore, not caring that she had a job or that she needed sleep. He turned on the lights, she remained still, not wanting to fight. Because that’s what Ronald wanted right now.</p><p>Ronald was a mean drunk.</p><p>The smell of cheap ale hit her nose as he entered the room. Flicking on the television, he turned the sound up. Giggling as he stumbled, falling onto the bed. Mumbling as he kicked off his shoes. She heard him removing his clothes, the bed dipped, covers lifted. Still feigning sleep even as he farted, giggling again.</p><p>“Mione, Mione,” Ronald whinged, “I need you to snuggle with me, come over here and snuggle with meeee.”</p><p>Hermione hated the shortened version of her name. Tolerating it from only the closest of her friends. When slurred, it grated on her nerves, without thinking, she flinched.</p><p>“OHHH! I knew you were awake, come give me a snuggle, love on me.” He scooted closer, spooning against her back. Big oafish hands curled around her waist, pulling her tight—stinking of body odor, cheap ale, and his sweaty feet. The stubble on his cheeks scratched her shoulder, Hermione couldn’t remember the last time she saw him shower.</p><p>“Ronald it’s late, I need to get up in a few hours,” She pleaded with him, she didn’t want to fight, “Can we please turn off the telly and the lights.”</p><p>The switch flipped, his voice went from a saccharin whine to pure venom, “Yeah, right, sure anything for you, you always get what you want, Mione,” He rolled away from her, getting to his feet. The fight was on.</p><p>Hermione winced, too tired to fight, angry that she was being forced. She would get up, there would be no sense in trying for sleep now. She headed for the shower. He rounded on her towering over her small frame, screaming, red-faced.</p><p>“Why do you have to be such a bitch all the time? That’s what you are. A spoiled fucking bitch that always gets what she wants,” He followed her into the loo, unrelenting, blocking the doorway.</p><p>Hermione kept her mouth closed, fighting the urge to tear strips from Ron’s hide. If she stayed quiet, his temper might cool. Hating him standing there leering at her, all she wanted now was a hot shower, “Please leave Ronald, I’d like to shower.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, you are my wife, I have every right to look at you. You spoiled Bitch, you always get what you want. I never get what I want. All I wanted was for you to love on me, you couldn’t even fucking do that,” The tirade continued, picking up steam, “You don’t want to touch me, you don’t want me looking at you. Are you fucking someone else, that’s what it is, isn’t it? Is it someone you work with? Yeah, it’s someone you work with, that’s why you’re never home.” His head lowered, eyes glaring, sneering as he swayed against the door.</p><p>This would be a fight that lasted until she left the house, talking him down, not an option tonight. Hermione turned her back, pulled her t-shirt over her head. Turning on the taps, as she stepped out of her knickers into the hot stream. Exhausted from the lack of sleep paired with his incessant verbal abuse.</p><p>She watched him watching her. Waiting for his next move. Cringing when Ronald unbuttoned his trousers. His eyes never leaving her, he slowly undressed as he moved toward her.</p><p>Hermione took a shuddering breath, she would get through this, it never lasted long. Steam filled the room, she heard Ronald mumbling. Hermione’s mind drifted off. Thinking she should have turned on the exhaust, ignoring when Ron stepped into the shower stall, the pathetic limp worm in his hand. He was too big to push away. Too tired to fight, Ronald took her wrists, pulling them over her head. His mouth latched on to hers, his sloppy kissing made her gag. There was too much slobber, too much tongue, Hermione turned her head away and instantly regretted the action. Ronald pushed her against the tiles as he turned her around. Shampoo ran in ringlets down her face. She still had soap in her hair.</p><p>“Fine, Bitch, you don’t want to look at me anymore! That’s fine. I’ll fuck your arse. It might be warmer than that frigid cunt of yours.”<br/>Hermione said nothing, she would be impressed if he could even get hard. How long had it been? At least a month. She wanted to rinse her hair and make coffee. She could stop for coffee on her way into work. Thinking about her day helped when dealing with Ron.</p><p>Ronald nudged her knees apart; she wasn’t about to make this easy. His little worm tickled her backside like a wet noodle. She bit down on the inside of her cheek, resisting the urge to giggle. He grunted and pushed, she could feel his hand working to make himself hard, while she thought about treating herself to a blueberry muffin.<br/>The water began to cool, and Ronald kept on pumping away with his hand, nothing was going to happen. He was limp and useless as always. Hermione tipped her head back into the stream, rinsing out her hair. Casually she reaches for the conditioner, tuning out the slap, slap, slap of her drunk husband wanking behind her.<br/>She heard a low growl. Here it comes, she thought. The tirade. Just how hateful would this one be.<br/>“This is your fault you know, you did this to me,” He wiggled his limp cock in her direction, “I never had this problem before, it’s just you and your frigid cunt, you spoiled Bitch, little miss fucking perfect. With your bloody rich parents that just so happened to leave you everything. Wasn’t that fucking convenient,” Hate in his voice reaching a new level, “I’d bet you planned that all along didn’t you…planned to take their memories and send them packing?” He leaned in close, breath stinking of cheap ale, the hate reaching his eyes, “I’m right, aren’t I?”<br/>At one point in her life, Hermione would have hexed him into pieces. This morning, however, she didn’t have the energy. Instead, she ducked under his arm and walked out of the bathroom. With wordless spells, she dressed, her hair tying itself into a bun. She refused to argue with him. Tuning out the tirade.<br/>He wanted a pound of flesh. She wouldn’t give it to him. Hopefully, by tonight this will have blown over. He would behave as if nothing happened, and she would fix dinner. Like the good wife, she was expected to be. At the front door, she turned to look at him, standing naked in the kitchen, stuffing his face. She wanted to say something, anything but couldn’t find the words. Turning on her heel, she apparated to the employee entrance of the Ministry. The coffee shop down the street would be open.<br/>Sitting inside the café in the grey light of early dawn, she sipped at her coffee, nibbling at the blueberry muffin. Relaxing back in her chair, she watched the people going about their morning. Finding peace in the bustle of commuters, and imagining a life not lived in chaos. It was nice to just sit quietly and enjoy her meal.</p><p>Ministry employees dotted the muggles. Hermione checked the time. She needed to hit the loo and check her makeup. Leaving the way she had. There wasn’t a chance to make sure she was presentable. Cosmetics were never a priority for Hermione, but with her position within the Ministry, she needed to keep up appearances.<br/>Staring back at her in the mirror stood a woman she didn’t recognize, twenty-four years old, and yet she felt ancient. She should feel that her whole life was ahead of her. Instead, it felt like there was nothing left. She tucked in a few stray curls and added a pink tint to her lips. That would be good enough. With no meetings scheduled for the day, she could afford to relax in her appearance. She turned to leave and noticed the poster on the back of the door for the first time. Usually, not something she paid any attention to.</p><p>This one was different. The girl in the poster sat on a floor, and the statement above glared in red, ‘He doesn’t have to hit you for it to be abuse.’ The posters list of abusive behavior stopped her in her tracks, as she slowly read through it. Everything on it rang true, every word a testament that she wasn’t crazy, and this was not normal behavior.<br/>A sharp knock on the door brought her back to reality. Hermione adjusted her coat and unlocked the door. She took a coffee to go and headed to her office, meeting Harry in the main Atrium. They walked together towards her office.<br/>“How’s Ron?” Harry asked, “Has he gotten any help?”<br/>“Ron is just Ron, he refuses to believe he has a problem,” Ron’s drinking wasn’t a secret. It was the reason for his termination from the Aurors office. Everyone knew. Her friends, family, the entire Wizarding World knew what transpired. The abuse he doled out. However, no one knew about it, not even Harry.<br/>“Lunch?” He offered with a weak smile.<br/>“Noon,” Hermione couldn’t resist his boyish grin, she smiled back as she shut her door. Whenever Harry worked in the office, he made it a point to have lunch with her. She thought he felt sorry for her, but she liked being alone. She leaned back against her office door and sighed. The ugly words from the latest fight came rushing in. In the silence of her office, the tears flowed. She slid down the door and onto the floor and buried her face in her hands. This she thought needed to stop, all of it. A wave of exhaustion threatened to drown her, nausea swept over her. She scrambled to her feet, bolting for the trash bin, vomiting up the muffin, with her coffee. Her head pounding. She needed to pull herself together, she pushed Ronald and all his bullshite to the back of her mind. Too many people counted on her to do her job.<br/>Hermione didn’t need to numb herself with alcohol or potions. She had her work, that’s what she would do, bury herself in the next project. She led the department in a new prison reform over the last few years. Bringing Azkaban into the future. Getting rid of the Dementors, the first thing she did. Next, she brought in food and clean clothing showers and fresh air. The list of Death Eaters now paroled and living productive lives grew every day. Thorfinn Rowle worked in the Magical Creatures Department. Lucius Malfoy assisted the Minister of Magic, she knew Antonin Dolohov was an up and coming Healer at Saint Mungo’s, apparently, he had talent fixing spells gone wrong.<br/>Hermione loved proving the naysayers wrong. She battled hard against the Wizengamot for the prison reform. Powerful wizards shouldn’t be left to waste away. Too many had already been lost due to the War. Now that it was over, their community needed to heal. Hermione believed in her heart that those former Death Eaters had something to contribute to the new society. Proving in court that the Dark Lords’ magic influenced their behavior. That darkness leached into them just as the Horcrux's had done to her and Harry. Changing Ronald into someone, she didn’t recognize.</p><p>The thought of fresh air reminded her that she would truly love to open a window. Only there were no windows deep inside the Ministry. It was a constant fight with claustrophobia—something she never experienced before the War. Nervous energy washed over her, panic edging its way back in. A cup of tea would help, she could pull herself together long enough to go get herself a cuppa.</p><p>The afternoon was upon her, and Harry found her buried beneath a pile of paperwork, “Just let me finish this last note… and…. There I’m done.” She was famished.<br/>They found their usual table, set back in the corner and away from prying eyes. Hermione inhaled her salad, not bothering with a conversation. She could feel Harry watching her, “What?”<br/>“Can I get you something else, do you want the other half of my burger?” He grinned at her, “You ate breakfast, didn’t you?”<br/>“Lost it in the bin, I wasn’t feeling well this morning,” Hermione reached over and took the other half of Harry’s burger and a handful of chips.<br/>Harry laughed, “Are you up the duff?”<br/>Hermione glared and shoved more chips in her mouth. She wasn’t pregnant. There was no way she could be pregnant. Besides this morning, she couldn’t remember the last time Ron slobbered all over her, “There’s no way I’m pregnant, don’t even think it, Harry.”<br/>“Would it be that bad, Hermione? Maybe that’s what it would take to pull Ron out of whatever this is he’s going through.” Harry looked so hopeful it broke her heart.<br/>She felt awful for lying to Harry, pretending she lived in marital bliss. Pretending Ronald Weasley wasn’t a narcissistic, abusive alcoholic. Pretending to the point that her best friend believed a baby would be a blessing. Nausea swept over her once more. She needed to excuse herself. There were too many people around, and she wasn’t about to vomit in a crowded cafeteria.<br/>“You don’t look well, Hermione, are you feeling alright?” Harry reached for her hand. “Seriously, Hermione, can I get you something … a hot tea?”<br/>“Peppermint tea perhaps, I’m alright, I think I just ate too fast, along with no sleep, stress,” Hermione teared up, “Just thinking about my parents and how ….”<br/>“Hermione, we’ll find them and fix their memories, and everything will be alright,” Harry slid onto the bench next to her.<br/>“It’s going to be alright Hermione, I’ll help you find them and bring them home,” He dabbed her tears with a napkin and hugged her tightly, “Hang on I’ll get you some tea.”<br/>She watched Harry as he walked off in search of a peppermint tea. Lack of sleep had her emotions running high, the fight she had with Ron kept rearing its ugly head. He liked to bring up her parents and the part she played in erasing their memories. She tried to find them right after the War, but they vanished without a trace. The Trio went to Australia in search of them. This is where Ronald proposed, and she quickly found herself trapped in a whirlwind engagement. Between him and his mother, they put a stop to the search party. Dragging her home to Great Britain, and suddenly her parents are on the backburner.<br/>Harry returned with her tea and escorted her back to her office, “Harry, I want to start looking again, I need to do this.”<br/>“What about Ron? I think he needs you right now.”<br/>Ron could fuck right off for all she cared, but she would never say that to Harry, “Right Ron, I can’t just leave with everything going on.” That sounded fake even to her, she hoped Harry didn’t notice.</p><p>“Do you want me to hang out for a bit?” Harry stood in the doorway, his eyes wouldn’t meet hers as fidgeted with a button on his uniform. Hermione turned around and hugged her friend. Taking comfort in his steady heartbeat and warm, masculine scent.</p><p>“No, thank you, though. I’ve tons of work to complete,” She paused. On the edge of telling him everything and chickening out, “I’m fine, really I am, thank you for the tea. I’ll meet you tomorrow morning for a coffee,” She kissed his cheek as she stepped away, “I promise I’m fine.”<br/>Harry leaned forward and kissed her cheek, “See you tomorrow,” She watched his sad little smile disappear behind the door.<br/>Hermione sank into her chair behind her desk, she leaned back sipping her tea. Breathing deeply, slow practiced breathes, before panic wrapped her in a chokehold. If she went to Saint Mungo’s, people would talk, she certainly didn’t want Molly to find out she was carrying a child. She didn’t want anyone to know. She decided to pop into a Chemist on her way home, get a test. She could use the loo in the coffee shop, no one would know. If it was positive if, by some chance, Ronald’s limp prick was able to impregnate her? She didn’t want to think about it. Because there was no way she was having this baby.<br/>She sat in silence in her office, sipping cold tea, unable to concentrate on any work. She had a long list of new parolees to go over, a list of who would be next. All she could think about, of course, was the possibility of an unplanned pregnancy. It was possible. She stopped taking the birth control potions, Ron never managed to get it up. Besides, the potions gave her headaches. Unfortunately, the limp cock never stopped him from raping her. It was rape, even if it was her husband.</p><p>The room closed in on her, Hermione made the decision to leave work early, she needed to know. No one noticed as she quickly moved through the Atrium and out onto the street. Passing the coffee shop, going around the corner. Hesitating at the entrance, she knew in her heart the test would be positive. Tunnel vision hit as she walked through the doors, she felt as if all eyes were on her. It didn’t matter this being a muggle shop, the panic was still there. She kept telling herself no one knows you, keep walking, keep moving. Glancing up and down the aisles, she spotted the women’s products. Feeling awkward with just the one item, Hermione picked out a muggle headache pill, antacids, a box of her favorite tea and chocolate biscuits. She laid them on the checkout counter, grinning at the clerk, the pregnancy test glared at her from the little pile of miscellaneous goods. Hermione’s heart skipped a beat; she could not bolt from the shop, pregnancy test in hand. Her eyes darted toward the door, back to the street, hoping she didn’t see anyone she knew.<br/>The clerk never batted an eye while she put everything in a bag. Hermione tucked it in her beaded purse as she left the shop, heading back to the coffee shop to do the deed.<br/>Bustling with muggles and Ministry workers alike, Hermione smiled at friends and headed straight for the loo. Thankful for the lack of a queue. She stood in front of the mirror, mouth dry, heart fluttering, her head pounding. She took some deep breaths as she pulled the test from its package. She needed to pee on it, wait two minutes. It was the longest two minutes Hermione experienced, sitting on the bathroom counter and waiting for a test strip to decide her fate. Seconds ticked by feeling like hours. Her timer chimed, she couldn’t bring herself to look. She peeked with one eye, blue positive stared back.</p><p>Hermione jumped off the counter and vomited in the toilet. Crying on her knees, how could she bring a child into an abusive marriage. This had to be her bottom. Today, she felt as if all she did was cry and puke, now she sat on a dirty floor in a muggle loo. A pile of ashes burned up used up, nothing left.</p><p>She wanted her mum, but the only way to get that was to get up off her knees and take care of the issue. She needed to remember who she was, Hermione Granger didn’t sit on a floor and cry about her problems. Hermione Weasley did. She stood back up and went to sink, splashed cold water on her face made herself more presentable. She stopped at the counter, buying herself a coffee before heading out. Ronald would not stop her from finding her parents this time. There were clinics she could go to.</p><p>Finding one was not a problem. On the other side of London, far from the Ministry. Hermione marched with a purpose into the clinic.<br/>She needed to do this now before she changed her mind. Ronald would never let her go if she had his child. She would never be able to escape. Abortion was something frowned upon in Wizarding society as was divorce. If anyone in the magical world found out, she would be shunned an outcast. That was a chance she would take. She could always move.</p><p>From behind the building, she charmed her hair short and black. Using a glamor to change the shape of her nose along with the color of her eyes, now she felt confident enough to enter. This wouldn’t be easy, she needed to prepare to do things an upstanding Ministry Witch would never do. She needed to slip over to the dark side.</p><p>“May I help you?” A woman’s voice broke her train of thought.</p><p>“Yes, I need to make an appointment to discuss a termination,” Hermione kept her voice low. Maybe Unforgivables wouldn’t be needed.</p><p>“Let me take a look at the schedule… Yes, well, how about next Thursday? Will that work for you?”</p><p> </p><p>Hermione looked around at the waiting room. One other woman sat in a corner with her head down, reading a magazine. Next week did not work. And she was about to do something she swore she would never do. She cast a silent Imperio at the receptionist, “I believe I have an appointment in ten minutes.”</p><p>A blank stare cascaded over the girl, “Oh, yes, I see right here, go-ahead Ms. Parkinson, fill out this paperwork and bring it back up to me.”<br/>Hermione smiled to herself at the thought of using Pansy’s name, and she had a feeling there were about to be a lot more Imperio’s to be cast before this day was over with.</p><p>An odd stillness came over her, a feeling of power as she cast. The first Imperio felt the hardest, but the next one and the one after that, each getting easier and easier. Manipulating those around her to do her will. Now in the exam room, Hermione listened to the heartbeat of her unborn child. She watched the fluttering on the ultrasound machine, almost changing her mind. What if, she thought, but there were too many what-ifs.</p><p>Her physician rolled her chair back, with a glazed expression, her tone flat, “You’re seven weeks along Ms. Parkinson. If you want to proceed, we can give you two different medications to take care of your situation.”<br/>“A pill?” Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad. She was under the impression it would be done surgically.<br/>“Yes, two pills, my nurse will give you the first pill here. Then you take the second medicine, either right away or up to 48 hours later. This medicine causes cramping and bleeding to empty your uterus. It’s kind of like having a really heavy, crampy period, the process is very similar to an early miscarriage. If you don’t have any bleeding within 24 hours after taking the second medicine, you’ll need to return to the clinic.”<br/>She was seven weeks along. How could she be seven weeks pregnant? Where were the signs? Hermione thought back, and the last few weeks were a jumble of drunken fights, crying, vomiting, all she attributed to stress and lack of sleep. The Doctor stood and walked from the room, “Wait here for my nurse,” she added as she shut the door.<br/>She lay there on the table, feet still in the stirrups, arse hanging out, “Can I get dressed?” She called after the Imperiused woman. No answer came. She stood to dress, noticing the frozen ultrasound picture still hanging from the machine—her baby’s first picture. A dot snuggled safely in her uterus. Hermione pulled on her skirt, just slipping on her shoes and, as an afterthought, hit the print button, snatching the picture from the printer. The nurse knocked before walking in, holding a cup of water with two pills.<br/>Hermione stared down at the picture, feeling torn, “I think, I think I need some more time …..”<br/>“Sweetheart, that’s okay. Take a few days, you don’t have to make this decision alone,” She placed the cup and the pills on the counter, “Please have a seat, I’ll go get you a list of resources, stay right here.”<br/>Hermione pulled two mints from her bag and transfigured them into duplicates of the pills, swapping them for the real ones.<br/>Footsteps sounded down the hallway as the nurse came back into the room, handing her a list of adoption agencies, “You can come back when you’re ready, dear, this is your choice.”<br/>“Thank you,” Hermione gathered her things and left the room. The pills tucked into her purse. She stopped at the counter and paid the receptionist, making another appointment for the following week. She thought of casting Obliviate, but it seemed unnecessary. They were muggles, and she would never see them again. Turning around at the door, she released the Imperious, turned on her heel disapparating.</p><p>Apparating, while distracted, had become an art form for Hermione. Her destinations clear in her mind. Abney Park an easy walk from the townhouse she and Ronald bought. As it was still too early to go home, Hermione popped into the café.</p><p>Hot tea sounded nice, with a small cheese sandwich to settle her stomach. She couldn’t handle Ron right now. She didn’t trust herself not to say anything. For now, she could sit quietly, watching the children on the playground. Her hand drifted down to settle on her flat stomach, and for just a little while, she could imagine a different life.</p><p>The sun began to set, the time for her to be returning from work reared its ugly head. He expected her to be on time.</p><p> </p><p>Going home always proved to be an adventure, never knowing what she would find or what mood Ron was in. Her heels clicked on the pavement in the quiet little cul-de-sac. Hermione paused as she approached the terrace house. She hated this neighborhood, hated Hackney. It was what they could afford at the time. It looked like they were here to stay with Ron getting fired.</p><p> </p><p>Lights were on, that meant Ron would be home, Reggae music drifted through the windows. Soft and tropical. Ron would be inebriated as his usual. The smell of grease hit her as she opened the door, dinner on the table. Take -out, of course.</p><p>“Ronald, I’m home,” Hermione pushed through the door, setting her purse down by the couch. Scanning the room as she did.</p><p>“Hey, Baby, how was your day?” He appeared halfway sober, “I brought some take-away home if you’re hungry.” Body odor coupled with cheap ale rolled off him. Florescent light from the kitchen glared off his pallid skin, dark hallowed circles around his eyes. The drinking was beginning to take its toll.</p><p>Seconds ticked by in awkward silence, “No thanks, I’m tired, I think I’ll just shower before I head to bed.” Nauseated from the stench, she just wanted to get far away from him.</p><p>He stood in the doorway, swaying against the frame, “What are you mad about?” Nastiness edged his voice.</p><p>“I’m not mad, Ron, I’m tired.”</p><p>“Then why won’t you have dinner with me? I bought it for you … your favorite ...I went to Beer and Burger, bacon cheeseburgers and chips.” Ronald sounded more like a thirteen-year-old boy than a grown man.</p><p>Ronald progressed to frequenting muggle pubs, and that’s what he brought home cold greasy pub food. Guaranteed he drank all day at the Beer and Burger, she would bet he just staggered through the door.</p><p>She was right, greasy pub food sat on the table. She would make an attempt to eat it, or there would be a fight all night. Involuntarily she made a noise of disgust. Dirty dishes on the counters, piled in the sink from the night before, “You could help me, Ron,” She couldn’t have this baby, she already had one. A big drunk baby.</p><p>He stood behind her, arms wrapping around her waist, he bent down and nuzzled her neck, “Why don’t we forget about the burgers and ……………” Ron nipped at her neck.</p><p>Hermione’s stomach rolled at the feel of his lips against her skin. An uncontrolled gag slipped out, she lurched toward the sink. Hit further with the stench of dirty dishes mingled with his breath, she vomited up the little cheese sandwich and tea.</p><p>“Well, isn’t that just bloody fucking amazing!” Ron growled. Did he ask if she were alright? No, it would be an excuse to attack her, “I kiss you, and you fucking start puking ……. What the fuck, Hermione?”</p><p>Her panicked mind began to backpedal, she didn’t want to fight. She felt him move up behind her, his fingers threading through her hair. He was escalating. She could feel it.</p><p>Ronald leaned in, whispering in her ear, “I said what the fuck Hermione?... Who are you fucking? Because it’s sure the fuck, not me!” His fingers closed tight, pulling her hair. Unstable anger rolled off him in waves.</p><p>Hermione clung to the sink, not moving. Ron towered over her pressing her into the counter. For all his faults, she couldn’t deny his power as a wizard. It was easy to forget. He might be dumber than a box full of rocks, but he was powerful. Her mind raced, she needed to talk him down again, but this time felt different. Her instincts screamed for her to get out, as a familiar hardness pressed against her backside. Of course, he could get it up now.</p><p>Ron had her face pressed painfully against the edge of the sink, as she felt him lift her skirt. Her wand knocked from the holster, hitting the tile floor. Course hands tore away at her knickers. This wasn’t the first time Ronald pushed himself on her. It was the first time done with violence.</p><p>“You know what Mione, I don’t care who you’re fucking,” Spittle ran down her cheek as he hissed in her ear, “But you will fuck me and bitch I had better hear you moaning my name!” He gripped her hair sharply, pulling upwards.</p><p> </p><p>Her head slammed into the metal sink, splitting her lip. Stars danced in her eyes, she vomited once more. A buzzing filled the room as Ronald pushed his cock inside her. Her head crashed into the sink knocking a tooth loose. She screamed, earning her a punch, “Please, please Ronald,” There would be only one way to get him to cease the attack, “Ronald, I’m pregnant… Ronald, I’m pregnant! Stop.”</p><p>“You’re lying,” He paused, pulling out and backing away from her.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not lying, I swear I found out today,” Gasping for breath, she stood up, steadying herself against the counter, blood smeared across her face. Holding out her hands in defense, “I have proof, I have proof in my bag. I have a picture from a muggle, Dr., please, Ron. Please stop. I’ll show you.” Hermione edged toward the door, her eyes never leaving Ron.</p><p>Ronald tucked himself back into his trousers, still scowling, eyes glaring he slowly followed her into their living room.</p><p>Hermione staggered to the couch. It took a minute for her to find what she was looking for. With trembling hands, she showed Ron the ultrasound picture from her bag.</p><p>“What’s this, that’s not proof. I don’t even know what that is.” He scoffed at her, “Even if you are pregnant, what’s to say it’s even mine.”</p><p>“The dot that’s circled… that’s our baby Ron.” Blood dripped onto the carpet and slid down her throat, her tooth wiggled as she spoke, “Use your wand, do the spell, you know it… Don’t you?” Her wand still lay in the kitchen, and if she were to make it out of this alive, she would need to get her wand, “I’ll show you…please, Ronald, let me show you.” Her voice barely above a whisper.</p><p>Ronald pulled out his wand, “I know how to fucking do it! I just forgot! I’m a pureblood!” His words slurred, “Unlike you! I know things that you don’t because...” It was on the tip of his tongue. That ugly word, the one carved into her arm.</p><p>Hermione underestimated just how drunk Ronald was, “You’re not the only one that knows how to do magic, you know-it-all cunt!”</p><p>Hermione recoiled as he raged. She was in survival mode.</p><p>“This will also prove if you’ve cheated on me, but then you know that, don’t you.” The smirk on his face let her know he had his doubts. Ronald whispered the spell, pointing the tip of the wand at her abdomen.</p><p>She would have a glow surrounding her for the next few hours as a result of a positive test, and the reason she chose the muggle test. The last thing she wanted to do was advertise that she was pregnant while at work. The secret was out now. His mother would know in the next few minutes and the entire wizarding world by morning.</p><p>Hermione’s womb glowed pale blue and gold, it was a boy and gold to signify her fidelity. An archaic pure blood practice to ensure the family line, “Our son Ronald, I was going to tell you over dinner. I’ve been nauseated all day. It’s not you... It’s the baby.” She needed to get him back into the kitchen, “Come on, I’ll warm up dinner. Maybe some chips will settle my stomach.”</p><p>Ronald swayed in front of her, and for a moment she thought he might hit her again, “You should have told me sooner, Luv, I wouldn’t have been angry with you.”</p><p>He reached up, finger tracing her cut lip, “You should be more careful, can’t have you falling if you’re carrying our son now, can we. ‘Episkey’ that should do it,” Ron smiled at her as if he hadn’t done anything.</p><p>“Now let’s go eat and then we can Floo call mum and tell her the news… and you should get cleaned up before we call. We don’t want her to think you’re reckless and flitting about while carrying her grandson.”</p><p>Ron put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around, pushing her towards the kitchen. Her mind racing, heart fluttering like a trapped bird. If Molly found out, there would be no leaving, no escape. She would be tied to Ronald and the entire Weasley clan forever.</p><p>Hermione took the bags of take-out from the table and pulled two plates from the cupboard, casually picking up her wand. She reheated the food, serving Ronald first.</p><p>“Hey, bring me a beer, we should celebrate... bring me two… I have to tell Harry!”</p><p>Panic began to creep up her spine. She couldn’t do this anymore, pretending everything was perfect. She stood at the sink staring at the blood-smeared counter and the dirty dishes, her torn knickers balled up on the floor. She could hear Ron eating, the same revolting sounds he made when they had sex. She stared at the empty beer bottles, cigarette butts floating in the warm dregs. Swishing her wand, the dishes scrubbed themselves. It was hopeless, she would never find her parents.</p><p>“Mione, come and eat… What are you doing over there? You can clean up later,” Mumbled with a full mouth, “Stop pouting, it was a little row …all is forgiven luv,” His bottle clinked as he set it down, empty, “Mmmuff…If you’re not going to eat, go get cleaned up. I want to go tell mum in person …”</p><p>Hermione didn’t think, for once, she reacted. Spinning on her heel, wand in hand. “OBLIVIATE!”</p><p>Said with such force, Ronald hit the opposite wall, knocked unconscious, blood leaking from his ears. Food falling from his mouth.</p><p>At one point in time, Hermione thought she loved Ronald, she thought Ron loved her. How could someone who loved you, hurt you? How long would he continue to use the Horcrux as an excuse for his behavior? Merlin’s bollocks Hermione knew Death Eaters, who took more responsibility for their actions than Ronald did.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A/N; Thank you to everyone that left kudos, reviewed, or just read. I appreciate all the love. Thank you to my Alpha/ Beta Lioness_Snake she has some deliciously naughty stories, go check her out. I hope you enjoy the next chapter.</p><p> </p><p>Some nights, the wolf inside of me shrinks<br/>
to nothing<br/>
She bares her teeth and runs away<br/>
The dragon in my chest rejects me<br/>
She’s so tired of being slain<br/>
There are nights when the lioness cowers<br/>
Says she can’t fight it another day…<br/>
What about the phoenix?<br/>
She sits with me in darkness<br/>
She whispers…<br/>
We’ll rise. Just you wait<br/>
/srwpoetry</p><p>Whisky Tango</p><p>Chapter Four</p><p>The spell left her mouth without thinking. She couldn't take it anymore, Ronald hit the wall with a thud, eyes wide, unblinking, "NO! No, no, no,…Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck!" She was right and properly screwed, "Merlins hairy fucking balls, I am not going to Azkaban for you, Ronald!" Hermione was thankful for the wards she placed, even her neighbors were unaware of the vicious fights. She lost her temper, something that Ronald was prone too, not her. </p><p>Hermione glared at his still form, panic fluttering in her chest. Ron looked as if he had stopped breathing, "Oh, Fuck! This is not happening!"</p><p>She needed a moment to think. This looked bad, she didn't mean it, "Hmmm…Damnit! Bloody fucking hell!" Hermione covered her face with both hands. </p><p>She hadn't meant to hurt him, but he wouldn't stop. She aimed her wand, "Rennervate," She had to at least try. Creeping slowly to the other side of the kitchen. Wand still pointed at Ron. She noticed his chest start to rise, she tapped him with her foot, "Ronald… Ronald, wake up!"</p><p>Clear fluid leaked from one ear, paired with blood from the back of his head. Hermione kicked him hard in the ribs, "Ronald, get up!" She held her breath, "Come on, Ronald," His eyes rolled, foam dribbled from his mouth. Violent tremors wracked his body as Ronald’s head slammed itself repeatedly against the tiles. His arms and legs flailing wildly knocking the empty bottles to the floor. Shattering, sending wicked shards in all directions.</p><p>Hermione jumped back to avoid the glass. Watching, not bothering to move him away from any furniture that he might injure himself on. Smirking a bit when Ronald bit his tongue. She was still angry at him and angry at herself. She should have left him long before it got to this. All the things that she should have done ran through her mind. She went to the cupboard and found a half-empty bottle of firewhiskey. She picked up Ron's overturned chair and sat at the table, careful to avoid the glass. The whisky stung her split lip, burning her raw throat, and clearing her head. </p><p>When the seizure stopped, she levitated Ron to the living room sofa. Where she could better assess his injuries. If she could cover up the Obliviate, she could claim she came home and found him like this. The problem lay with Ron's level of alcohol in his blood and that he might be drunk but not enough to cause this kind of damage, or he might just remember certain things. Either way, it was a chance she wasn't willing to take. She sat on the coffee table staring at the man she married, her childhood friend. This was the first and only man she had been with. This is not how it should end. She used her wand to gently remove the blood and shards of glass from his face.</p><p>Minutes ticked by, valuable minutes. She blocked the floo, she didn't need any unexpected guests. Suddenly hoping Molly wouldn't notice her damned clock. Ronald stirred, moaning louder, trying to sit up. Glass from his clothes fell into the carpet. Ronald moaned again. Blood covered the throw pillow where his head rested, and Hermione dabbed a bit of dittany to the laceration. She needed to get him somewhat cleaned up for her plan to work. She smiled as his hand reached for hers, tracing the lines of her palm with a finger. Innocently studying her hand.</p><p>Hermione reached up with her other hand to tuck red curls behind his ear, "Ronald, you had a seizure, do you know where you're at?" </p><p>"Boobals? Mione Boobals?" Bloody drool slid down his chin, a vacant stare that wasn't all that different from his usual appearance. She thought maybe she could convince him he had just fallen and had a seizure.</p><p>"Mmmm… Wha wha my boobals?" Ronald tried to speak. His eyes crossed, unable to focus, his hands went to the back of his head. Coming back bloody, "Hohooo Hohooo," Her heart broke, she had to fix this, guilt washed over her as she watched the childlike behavior. Ronald held his bloody hands out to show her, mumbling gibberish. He started to stand, and she guided him back down to the cushions.</p><p>Sitting across from him again on the coffee table. Blood and drool dribbling down his chin. She needed to fix this and fast. Concentration was key, it was just difficult to concentrate while her face was still bleeding. There were choices to be made. Fix him or get rid of her problem once and for all, that was the question. She could try another Obliviate, maybe it would reset his brain. She could just pretend to come home and start this entire evening over with. Or… an option that would definitely land her in Azkaban. She didn’t want to kill him she just didn’t want to be married to him anymore. </p><p>She pointed her wand at her drooling husband as he lay prone on the sofa, "Obliviate." This time said calmly with intent. This had to be the one spell she had trouble with. First her parents and now Ron. </p><p>Ronald shook his head as if he woke from a dream, rubbing his eyes, groaning, and looking up at her. Something was not quite right, and the hair stood up on Hermione's arms. Whether it was the tilt of his head or glint in his eyes, she knew there was something very wrong. She damaged his brain with the first Obliviate and flipped another switch with the second.</p><p>"Mione?" Ron gave her a questioning look his blue eyes narrowed, "Wha happened? Wha the bloody hell did you do to me? You fucking bitch!” He roared, “ You did something to me…" He started toward her. Hate creeping back into his eyes, his fists clenching. Ronald lunged off the couch a ferocious growl left his lips. Wrapping both hands around her neck. He knocked her to the ground. Pinning her with his knees.  Hermione freed his hold on her throat. She began to buck, twisting, scrambling, desperate to get away from the attack. Ronald grabbed her by the ankles, pulling her back under him.</p><p>"You're not getting away from me, you Mudblood bitch," Spraying her with bloody spittle. He roared again. His attack was frenzied as he pummeled her face and abdomen with both fists.</p><p>Stunned by the blows, she froze. The instinct to survive kicked in, as her mouth filled with blood, and that word filled her ears, stars dotted her vision. But her wand was still in her hand, "Crucio" It came out as fast as the Obliviate. Her curse slamming into Ron sending him twitching, unconscious on the floor. Hermione rolled to her feet. Her wand trained on Ronald. Her hands shaking from the adrenalin. Two minutes earlier, she just wanted to put everything back the way it was and now …. She stood over Ronald, wanting to hurt him again as Bellatrix had hurt her.</p><p>“Why do you insist on being a wanker Ronald? Why?” She was frustrated and angry, everything had fallen apart. She used two unforgivables in one day. Dark magic whispered in her ear that she could use the third. No one would know.</p><p> Everything she so carefully held together fell apart. She thought of the child she carried, one that would never be born. Not if she ever wanted to be free of the Weasley's. He would never let her go.</p><p>Ronald moaned, his eyes flickered open, he growled, lunging for her ankle.</p><p> Hermione jumped back, narrowly missing his grasp. Hissing the curse, "Imperio," Tears of anger streaked through the blood running down her face. Dark magic fed on the anger flowing through the curse that tumbled from her lips. He wanted to drink. This time she wouldn't stop him.</p><p>Ronald turned toward her, slowing getting to his feet. With the flattened affect of someone under the Imperious. Hermione stepped back, "Ronald sit on the sofa," She wanted to start small with her orders. He cocked his head but obeyed. Hermione edged her way to the liquor cabinet, never turning her back, her fingers wrapped around the first bottle she found.</p><p>"Drink Ronald, all of it… don't stop," The orders came out as a whisper. Hermione emptied the cabinet, loading up the coffee table. From Firewhisky to muggle gin, she placed it all in front of him. Ron was drinking straight from the bottle when she turned to leave. She wasn't sure what she wanted to accomplish with this scenario, but it was all she could think of. Apparently, Imperio was a spell she excelled at.</p><p>She paused in the doorway, looked over her shoulder at the man she once loved. Maybe even still loved. What used to be was now gone. All she wanted to do was go to bed. She was so tired. However, she needed to clean up the house first. With Ron busy drinking, she could slow down and think, attend to her wounds and just think.</p><p>She could fix the broken ribs, Splashing cold water on her face. She needed to get a good look at the damage Ron inflicted. Visually her wand fixed most of the wounds. Both eyes began to blacken. The split lip, the loosened teeth, her broken nose, it would all heal. Her ribs were sore along with the bruises on her abdomen. She brushed her teeth and fixed her hair. Her robes were torn, she would need to change. Peeking out she could see Ronald through the crack in the door, draining the last of the firewhiskey.</p><p>He looked busy, drinking everything she had put on the table as she walked back through on her way to the kitchen. Having changed into muggle sweats. She could now clean the kitchen comfortably.</p><p>The kitchen lay in shambles, she righted the chairs, repaired the broken dishes, all with her wand. It was only when she took a wet rag to clean the blood off the floor that all of the what-ifs, the whys, and maybe someday started filtering into her thoughts. It felt like giving up. It wasn't like her to give up. It was with her back to against the cupboards, sitting on that cold tile floor that she realized it wasn't love that kept her with Ronald. It was her ego. She didn't like to lose, and it felt like losing to walk away. Never wanting to admit she had failed, and it didn't matter what Ron did or how badly he behaved. She thought she could fix it. She could fix him. So, she forgave him each and every time. Believing the promises 'He would stop drinking. That he just wanted one more night out, one more drink, one more celebration,' the game continued until she felt buried beneath the lies he told.</p><p>Magic and muggle elbow grease scrubbed the kitchen, Hermione stepped back to admire her work. She felt better, now on to the living room. Perhaps Ronald had drunk a sufficient amount and would be properly pissed. Passed out is what she preferred. She wondered why using the Imperious on him before hadn't occurred to her.  </p><p>"Ronald," His drunken slurs never came, "Ron?" She was met with silence. He should answer, "Ronald answer me." The ticking of the clock on the mantle was the only sound in the room. A little concerned, she pushed open the swinging door to the living room. It was empty. Discarded bottles lay tipped on the coffee table and floor, but Ronald was nowhere to be found.</p><p>"Shite! Merlin's bloody fucking nipples … Ronald!" She looked in the loo and the bedroom, Ron was gone. Hermione dashed out the front door, thinking she might be able to catch him at the corner.<br/>
Rain-soaked the empty streets, illuminated by the orange streetlights. Hermione looked up and down the surrounding blocks, as the rain fell harder. Ronald was long gone.</p><p>"Where the fuck are you?" The absolute last thing she needed was her husband stumbling around London at night under the Imperious curse, blind drunk. Soaked to the bone, she returned to the house. All she could do is wait. He may have just stepped out for more whisky.</p><p>Without Ron there to leer and harass, she decided to take a proper shower, put on her favorite pajamas, and crawl into bed. She would have bruises for the next few days, but they had already begun to fade. The bruises on her abdomen were red and tender, aching like her period threatening to start. Too tired to care she left the living room in disarray.  Warding the door against Ron and curling up with her wand in her hand. She dozed off the second her head hit the pillow.</p><p> </p><p>ooOoo</p><p>Antonin wore the dark grey robes of the Emergency Department, night shift. The first eight weeks kicked his arse, and he wasn't too ashamed to admit it. He had started easy, with Medical floors and day shifts, breaks, and lunch hours. Nightshift operated with half the staff and none of the resources. He was lucky to get fifteen minutes to eat, let alone hit the loo. Some new Healers sink in all the confusion. Antonin soared in the chaos. This is what he was born to do, he had found his tribe.</p><p>The night started off with a bang, with several Aurors being injured while on a raid. Minor injuries, all young and full of themselves. Busting down doors to stop dangerous creature trafficking and in the process. Uncovering a Nandu. Fortunately for them, it turned out to be a young cub. As a full-grown, Nandu would have killed them all. </p><p>Antonin spoke to the nurse as he wrote out orders, "Monitor their airways for the next four hours. If oxygen levels continue to increase, we can discharge them back to work," He took the notes from a technician on another patient. He sighed, "I'll buy if someone wants to run for coffee!" He shot her a little grin. She was cute and he noticed how her eye’s twinkled when she looked at him.</p><p>"I'll go," The young tech smiled, "I was just headed for a quick break. What can I get you?"  </p><p>"Large, black, two sugars please and whatever you want," He sighed heavily, flopping into his chair. He spun it around to face her as he handed over his badge, “Thanks Luv, use my card.” He flashed her his best brown-eyed smoldering glance. His chest swelled a little, he still had it, the tech smiled, blushing as she turned around to leave, a little skip in her step.  </p><p>He turned back to the stack of records, as the overhead speaker chirped… "Tier one trauma two minutes by portkey… Tier one trauma two minutes by portkey."</p><p>The staff jumped into action. The trauma bay was well organized. The cute technician going for his coffee turned around. Nurses stepped into position, and Antonin was up. Tier one was critical, this patient was close to death, everyone in the waiting room would now wait. </p><p>Mediwizards port keyed to a designated pad, wheeling their patient into the trauma bay. The tech at the head of the bed placed the patient on the monitor, getting that first set of vital signs. This patient was immobilized, temporary splints binding his limbs that appeared to twist at odd angles. Bubblehead in place with a ventilation charm kept the patient breathing. One eye bulged in the socket, unseeing. Nurses started intravenous lines to begin potions… Antonin stood back taking the report from the medics. At first glance, he grimaced at the medic, “Let me guess chewed up and spit out by a mountain troll?”</p><p>A tall, burly mediwizard chuckled as he spoke to Antonin. "Not quite but almost as bad. We arrived on the scene to find a twenty-five-year-old wizard supine in the street. Having been struck by a muggle bus…. A double-decker, Sir. The patient was unresponsive. We stabilized as best we could, he received four units of blood replenisher, but I'm afraid it went out faster than we could give it. I started pain potions, two cc's I didn't want to give too much because of the alcohol on board. He’s sinus tach at a rate of one-ninety. I could palp a blood pressure of sixty systolic. Oxygen before assistance was fifty-four, we brought it back up to eighty-nine, " The medic handed Antonin a copy of his report, “Anything else Boss?”</p><p>“Do we know who this guy is?”</p><p> “No. Witnesses from the pub stated that this bloke showed up about an hour ago, already appearing intoxicated. There were no signs of foul play, no indication of dark magic, no trolls in the pub Sir.” The medic chuckled, “Muggle witnesses stated the man is a known drunkard. They weren’t surprised by what happened.”  </p><p>"Thank you, gentleman," Antonin nodded to the medic as they gathered up their equipment, "Now let's see what we have going on." He handed the medic report to the nurse taking notes, then began his examination. Starting at the head. This had to be a Weasley he thought, he could see the red hair through the blood. He called out his findings to the nurse, taking notes, "The skull is fractured, pupils are blown, unequal and sluggish to light," Antonin shook his head, “Trauma to the left obit… let’s cover this eye…” His patient was in bad shape, the golden hour ticked. The outcome for his patient looked grim.</p><p> "Cerebral spinal fluid leaking from the ears," He moved his wand over the young man's head. "Basil skull fracture along with maxillary and zygomatic trauma, fractured orbit. Lacerations of the tongue and mouth, missing teeth… We need to call neuro. Get intensive care down here. If he lives long enough, he'll need a bed." Antonin moved across the body, casting diagnostic spells. The skeletal structure glowed, revealing the numerous bone fractures, "Does anyone know who this kid is, we need family here? Call ortho for the bi-lateral femur fractures. So, let’s start some Skel o grow"</p><p>"I think that's Ron Weasley," The technician wiped at the blood on his forehead, "Yeah this bloke looks an awful lot like Ronald Weasley, he was a year ahead of me at Hogwarts. I think he married Hermione Granger, and there's still a wedding band."</p><p>Another nurse spoke up, "Auror Potter is in C pod with that team that was hit with Nandu gas."</p><p>"Go get him," Antonin continued his exam, furrowing his brow. He hoped retrieving Potter wasn't a mistake. He needed to make a positive I.D. on the patient. He couldn’t recall what the Weasley boy looked like exactly. The Granger girl he remembered, and everyone knew Potter but who could tell one Weasley from the next. </p><p> He took a deep breath and got to work. The technician removed the blood-soaked clothing, cleaning with her wand. Antonin followed with his, knitting the broken pieces back together, repairing ruptured organs. Nurses kept the potions going, "I'm going to start the respiration charm. Let's get him cleaned up a bit before Potter gets in here… I need the family to make some decisions."</p><p>Antonin took a step back to read the current vital signs, "Is this the most recent blood pressure?" He scowled again. His patient was dying, and there wasn't a damned thing he could do to fix him.</p><p>"Yes, Sir… I took it five minutes ago."</p><p>"Take it again and this time, check an atrial pressure. The bi-lateral femur fractures are not helping, can't regrow bones if he's bleeding all over the place…How many units of the replenisher are in?"</p><p>The nurse at the head of the bed responded, "Unit six going in … ten total with what was given by the medics."</p><p>"Push, dittany, and give another six units wide open…" If this was Ronald Weasley, things were about to go tits up. Alarms went off. Monitor charms glowed red, pulsing lights flashed over the patient. He was going to need some back-up, if for no other reason than to cover his arse.</p><p>"Sir, his pressure is dropping, sinus tach at one-eighty-nine, with runs of V-tach. Oxygen levels at seventy-two percent."</p><p>Antonin ducked his head out the door calling for another Healer, "Barry, I need another set of hands," He moved back to the hemorrhaging redhead on the table. The kid was dying. Although he wasn't fond of Weasleys, he wasn't about to let one of the Golden Trio bleed to death in his trauma bay.</p><p>Healer, Barry, strolled in, clapping Antonin on the back, "What do you have, Dolohov?" Healer Barry had worked the Emergency Department for the last twenty-five years, making him the senior Healer on for the shift. Very little could rattle Healer Barry, and Antonin loved working with Healer Barry. </p><p>"Patient was struck by a double-decker… muggle at that. I'm thinking cardiac tamponade, along with the multitude of other injuries, that one just happens to be at the top of the list… I haven't seen anyone from neuro. But I'm pretty sure the kid's brain dead, pupils are fixed and dilated, open skull fracture. I fixed the tear in the aorta." He felt like a first year Healer doing rounds.</p><p>Healer Barry drew his wand and began his exam, stopping at the eyes, "Hmmmm…Family?"</p><p>"Haven't made a positive identification." He really didn’t want this to be Ronald's best friend to the Chosen One Weasley. </p><p>“Hmmm… looks like a Weasley, but the question is which one?” Barry looked grim, "I agree with a tamponade. Do you want to try to pull the fluid off the heart?"</p><p>"It's not going to hurt at this point…."</p><p>Healer Barry stopped his wand at the chest, "We have blood beginning to pool in the lungs, I'll start there if you can handle the cardiac issue."</p><p>Antonin closed his eyes and took a deep breath in, slowly exhaling, “I can handle it, I just don’t think I can save this kid…”</p><p>“Son, you’re not going to save this kid. I agree with you, he’s brain dead, but if we can keep his heart beating until his family gets here and they see that we’re doing everything in our power to save him… that right there will satisfy them,” Barry put a hand on his shoulder, “So until there’s nothing left to do, we push on.”</p><p>Sweat beaded on his brow. Warming spells were put over trauma patients to stave off hypothermia. This caused the room to become unbearably hot. Antonin's focus on his patient never faltered when the nurse returned with Auror Harry Potter. Instead, he finished his task of relieving the heart of the pressure it was under. Only then did he stop and look over at the chosen one, the boy that had grown into a man. Auror Potter stood in the doorway, stoic and professional.</p><p>"You asked to see me, Healer Dolohov?" His voice clipped, respectful, yet still with a hint of animosity. His eyes darted to the patient under the glaring heat charms above the gurney. Blood seeping through the thin hospital gown, a bubblehead charm hissing and popping with its artificial respirations.  Tubes crisscrossed, pumping potions into the body. The look on Auror Potter's face told Antonin the technician was correct, this was Ronald Weasley.</p><p>Antonin cleaned his hands with a quick tergio, "Mr. Potter, I'm afraid this patient came in without identification. We have speculated, but without a positive I.D, I have no way of contacting family… If you can, would you mind confirming the patient’s identity?” He kept his demeanor professional. He glanced at Healer Barry finishing his procedure. Happy to have the older Healer in the room.</p><p>Auror Potter glared back at him, “What makes you think I would know this patient?” </p><p>Antonin kept his cool in front of the Boy Who Lived, refusing to be played. Technically he was still on probation, “I believe you may know the patient, Mr. Potter. I’m terribly sorry, but I think this may be a son of the Weasley’s. </p><p>Antonin watched the changing emotions flow through Potter. Anger, uncertainty, and fear. Potter turned away from him. Slowly approaching the gurney.  One hand reached for the redheads, recoiling at the sight of the pale fingers. Withdrawing a shaking hand, he shoved it deep in his pockets. He turned to Antonin, voice trembling, "It's… it's Ronald Weasley…uhh, I'll contact his wife and his family if you don't mind," Harry's eye's hardened, "Considering Molly may not react well… to you, that is and this. Maybe you could hand off your care to another Healer?"</p><p>Antonin didn't flinch at the reminder of his past, "I understand Mr. Potter, this is a delicate situation. I'll let you take care of it,” If Potter wanted to inform family he would gladly bow out. He hated that part, dealing with the traumas now, that he could do. “If you like, I can have Healer Barry take over care as to not cause The Weasleys any extraneous anxiety." He bowed slightly. "Mr. Potter, right now, we're doing everything in our power, but I'm not sure how long we can keep Mr. Weasley alive. Due to the amount of brain damage. We need to know the family's wishes as to how far they would like us to go."</p><p>"I understand, I'll retrieve his wife first," Harry turned to leave, his composure wavering.</p><p> </p><p>ooOoo</p><p>Startled awake by pounding on her bedroom door, Hermione rolled to her feet, wand in her hand, "Sleep it off, Ronald! I don't want to talk right now." She wasn’t ready for another fight, and half wondering if the Imperious wore off when she fell asleep. She would need to look that up.</p><p>"Hermione it's me… open the door.", Harry's voice came from the other side, like ice water down her back "Hermione hurry, get dressed! Now!" </p><p>Her hands began to shake, hyperventilation, and full-blown panic threatened. Harry was going to arrest her. She would be sent to Azkaban. Hermione slowed her breathing down, pulling herself together. She could fix this. Hermione unwarded the door and let him in, "What?” She threw a heavy cloak over her cotton pajamas and turned around to see her best friend grey with shock. She slid on her heavy boots and stuffed her wand up the sleeve. Harry started to shake uncontrollably. Whatever it was it was bad.</p><p>"You have to come with me to hospital, it's Ron… Hermione, it's Ron," He clutched ahold of her, sobbing, "We have to go now, the Healers don't think he's going to make it."</p><p>Hermione's mind kicked into overdrive with too many questions. What did they know? What did Harry see? Her living room was still a disaster. She pushed gently, "What's going on, Harry?" Guiding him toward the front door. </p><p>"Ron is dying he was struck by a double-decker, The Healers say he was pissed and must have stumbled into the road, and he was hit, Hermione… It's awful Hermione, there's so much blood, and the Healers are trying, but they can't stop it… they can't fix him…" Harry crumbled to her couch, "It's my fault, Hermione, I should have done more, I should have been a better friend. I …"</p><p>Hermione noticed the ultrasound picture on the carpet next to Harry's foot. She stepped forward, covering it with her boot. Blood on the couch pillows, on the carpet, and against the walls. It looked as if someone had butchered a pig. Her mind began to berate herself for going to bed and not cleaning up. She should have cleaned the living room. She needed to get Harry out of her house before he started noticing things. She thanked the god's the only light in the room came from the streetlight, "Harry get up … let's go," She grabbed hold of his hand, apparating them both to Saint Mungos. She would need to return alone and clean fast.</p><p> </p><p>ooOoo</p><p>Florescent lights flickered, and the waiting room lay eerily silent with a single discharged patient sleeping in a chair. Hermione heard the rain pelting the windows. Harry staring straight ahead in a fog of grief. She fumbled for her identification in her purse. Instead, her hand found the stolen abortion pills. Her focus drifted as well. She needed to take them before it was too late. The clerk's voice brought her back, "How may I help you this evening?"</p><p>Her hands trembled. For a moment, the words just wouldn't come out. Sticking in her throat. She dropped the pills, pulling out the I.D., "I… my husband is here," She didn't know how this was supposed to work. Her expression confused.</p><p>"His name, dear?" The clerk smiled, waiting patiently.</p><p>"Oh…oh sorry Ron, Ronald Weasley," She was holding herself together by a bare thread. The fluorescent lights were not helping, she noticed bruising on her hands, her face was sure to be a mess. Adding to the list of things she should have done before sleeping.</p><p>"Have a seat, and someone will be out to get you in a moment."</p><p>Harry tilted his head, looking at her, "Hermione, he's strong he's going to pull through. Right? I’m right, I just know it." He was so hopeful it broke her heart.</p><p>Hermione's pulse pounded in her neck, "I need the loo… I'll be right back," She darted for the ladies.</p><p>Inside she stood at the sink, splashing cold water on her face, repeating to herself to just breathe, just breathe. They didn't suspect anything, Harry said it was a bus and staggered drunk into the roadway. She was entirely responsible for that situation, but they didn't know about it. Nobody knew. She would keep it that way.</p><p>The bottle of pills rolled out onto the floor as she picked up the bag she dropped. Bending down to pick them up, she made the decision. She couldn't stay pregnant. Not one second more. She popped the pills in her mouth, swallowing them down with a sip from the tap. The nurse did say it would take twelve hours, she had time. She could be home alone and just let it happen. </p><p>Looking in the mirror, bruises glared back. She splashed more cold water on her face and touched up the blue marks with a glamour. Pulled her hair back into a ponytail and straightened out her clothes. A loud rap at the door spooked her, "Just a moment!" She squeaked.</p><p>"Hermione, the nurse is here to walk us back."</p><p> </p><p>                                                                                                                             ooOoo</p><p>Antonin returned to his patient, the more he thought about Potter's insinuation that Molly wouldn't approve, irritated him. The Weasley's delicate sensibilities could fuck right off. This was his patient. Blood alcohol levels had come back through the roof. He wasn't sure how this kid could even walk, let alone stagger into traffic. He was missing something. Truth be told, Molly wasn't mad at him, he kept her secrets. A huge secret, one that he would use if pushed.</p><p>His patient had stabilized for now, and they were waiting for the wife to show up. Antonin took the time to go back over his assessment of Ronald. The boy on the gurney had a name now. A charm pushed oxygen into his lungs while another drained blood from his chest. Blood replenishers in tubes ran wide open, dittany in the largest bottles still dripped, bleeding slowed to a manageable flow.</p><p>Antonin stood for a moment in the silence, the room had been darkened save for the red warming lights. It started as a tickle in the middle of his back, an old familiar sensation that he hadn't felt in a long time. He moved closer, if he just slipped into Ronald's head, for just a moment, he felt he would find what he was looking for.</p><p>Blown pupils stared back, Antonin took a deep breath and reached into the boy's mind.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A/N; Just want to thank everyone for all the kind reviews and kudos I appreciate every single one of them. Thanks to my Alpha / Beta for all of her help Lioness_Snake she has some naughty one-shots you should check out. I hope you guys like this chapter. The quote at the end is from D.H. Lawrence.</p><p> </p><p>Whisky Tango</p><p> </p><p>Broken glass on the floor by my bed<br/>
Lying next to books<br/>
I’ve never even read<br/>
Wide awake, all the mess that I made<br/>
Everything I’ve taken<br/>
You’re the one who paid</p><p>Broken Glass By Jack Savoretti</p><p>Chapter Five</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Antonin hated opening doors when in someone else’s mind. Doors meant secrets. He easily slipped into the Weasley boys’ thoughts and found himself standing in front of an average townhome. A middle-class neighborhood, well-groomed flower beds, and neatly trimmed lawns. Except for that door. Glaring white with its neat black trim. Nefarious energy emitted around that normal white door, a dark power that set Antonin’s teeth on edge. This boy had secrets.</p><p> It did occur to him that this might be an epic mistake. The closer he came to the door, the more ominous the feeling. It wasn’t dark magic, but something else. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Because his magic didn’t work in here, and with zero back-ups, the feeling to retreat nagged at him. Whispered voices drifted from inside. A woman’s voice sobbed gently in the wind,’ Please stop, please Ronald.’</p><p>Screaming rattled the windows, glass shattered against walls, and someone inside roared with rage. Antonin reached for the door handle. Hesitating at the sight of bloody fingerprints smearing the doorframe. His fingers closed around the brass nob, knowing it would be locked, “Ronald! Ronald open the door,” He didn’t want to push his way inside, risking further brain damage to the boy.</p><p>“Ronald Weasley, I’m a healer. Will you open the door?” He peered through the window. Shadows moved in the darkened room. Hushed tones of a woman’s voice began again, she was crying, begging. Sounds that he was not unfamiliar with, “Open the door, Ronald.”</p><p>The nob turned in his hand, creaking open. The smell of blood, like dirty pennies, hit his nose. Unsure of what he would find, Antonin cautiously entered. Inside that perfect middle-class home, lay the ruin of a marriage, smelling of rot and deception. </p><p>Shadows slithered along the walls, dripping from the corners. Inside, the house writhed in pain from the cruelty etched in its walls. An exquisite painting of Ronald’s dementia.</p><p> Broken glass littered the carpet around were Ronald sat. Hunched on the couch, sitting in a pool of blood. A full array of bottles before him. Bleeding from the back of his head, mumbling to himself as he drank straight from the bottle, “Boobals, boobals, fucking mudblood thinks I forget… she thinks she knows everything…” He hissed, cursing, bloody spittle dripped from the bottle and down his hand, “I’ll tell mum that’s what’ll do,” Slurring his words and downing what he had left of the firewhiskey, “Mums always hated that bitch… always said not to marry that mudblood... I’m too good for that cunt… she did this to me…”</p><p>Antonin moved cautiously, swinging wide around Ron. Keeping his back to the wall. Ronald swayed back and forth, cursing the mudblood under his breath. Antonin took this chance to assess his patient. He had a feeling there was a lot more to this story than how it appeared.</p><p>He noticed Ronald’s eyes first, eerily incandescent, darting around the room until they locked on Antonin. His nostrils flaring, snarling, “That fucking bitch locked me in here,” Clear fluid leaked from his ears. Antonin noticed injuries that must have happened before the accident. The lacerations, the glass, the slight angle to his head, and something else…Tremors, the kind he recognized. Antonin was beginning to paint the picture of what might have happened. </p><p>“What happened here, Ronald?” Antonin kept his tone low, neutral, as nonthreatening as possible. The young man on the couch was unstable, and Antonin risked a great deal to sneak inside this kid’s head because of a feeling he had. It was, however, paying off, Ronald was not disappointing him. Someone and he speculated had Obliviated Ronald… badly. Traces of a few unforgivables floated through the room. Antonin shivered. There wasn’t anything else quite as tantalizing as Dark Magic tickling the senses.</p><p>“Babbies, Boobels, Boobels, she thinks she knows everything…” The words rolled from his tongue, hissing. Bloody drool on his chin, he tipped the bottle back and drained it, “Mudblood! Cunt, she tricked me,” He wiped at spittle with his sleeve, “I’m stuck I can’t get out…. She thinks I don’t remember… But I fucking remember… She showed me the boobels.” He shook his head to clear the fog.</p><p>The bottle in his hand refilled, and he took another long pull, rocking back and forth. Ronald’s eyes narrowed as he squinted at Antonin, “Who… who… who are you?... Are you fucking Mione? She’s fucking someone …doesn’t fuck me …” Ronald growled, throwing the bottle, narrowly missing Antonin’s head. It shattered against the wall, spraying glass into the carpet. </p><p>Antonin didn’t flinch. His eye’s never wavering from Ron as he crept back toward the door. It was time to leave. He wasn’t getting anything else from the red-head, and the situation had started to deteriorate. He took a deep breath, backing out of the damaged mind of the Weasley boy.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br/>
ooOoo</p><p>Antonin gripped the rails of the gurney as he retreated. Ducking out too fast, giving himself a headache. He leaned his forehead on the cold metal, thinking this is what he got for meddling like an old crone. He exhaled, closing his eyes from the glare of the lights, he needed to reassess his patient. Alarms sounded as footsteps echoed down the hall. He needed to pull himself together. The wife would be here soon, and Antonin wasn’t convinced he could look her in the eye. He had gotten a peek at the nightmare she lived in.</p><p>Footsteps shuffling on tile, a muffled gasp, and he knew she was<br/>
here. All he had to do was look up.</p><p>Hermione stopped in the doorway. Her shock well cloaked as she stared at Antonin Dolohov, hovering over Ron. Harry could have warned her. She was aware that he worked in the hospital as she kept tabs on all of the parolees. She just didn’t expect to see him like this. It wouldn’t be easy to lie to the dark wizard. Doing so would be tough, now was not the time to panic.</p><p>Through the glare of the fluorescent lights, her hazel eyes stared back at him. With her hair pulled into a messy ponytail and still in her nightclothes… Antonin had to admit she certainly had her game face on. The first thing he noticed was the glamour she put on her face, he thought Potter would have noticed. But grief tends to blind, grief wasn’t blinding Mrs. Weasley. That was evident. She appeared concerned, and Antonin didn’t want to judge. But she looked as if she were hiding something. This coming from an old<br/>
habit of reading everyone in the room. It proved an asset in the Emergency Department, with legilimency skills second only to Snape. There were instances when being a<br/>
Death Eater had its benefits.</p><p>“Mrs. Weasley?” Antonin steeled himself for her reaction. Wondering if she would fall apart as Potter had done. She didn’t. She carried herself with grace, not the broken spirit of a battered witch that he expected. Hermione Weasley hid her secret well. He would bet he was the only other person who knew. He made up his mind not to talk about anything he suspected or had witnessed in front of Potter, “I’m Healer Dolohov, but I think you know that… I’m your husbands, Healer.”</p><p>“Granger-Weasley, but yes, I do know who you are Healer Dolohov.” Hermione let go of Harry, dropping his arm as she left his side. She would face Dolohov head-on. Even though her heart fluttered like a trapped bird in her chest. Anxiety welled up, Antonin Dolohov, she remembered in scattered nightmares from the past. Almost ten years since the incident at the Ministry had passed. This was not the man that haunted her dreams. He had changed, softened around the eyes. Dark eyes that were now staring right through her. Leaving her with the impression he knew everything.</p><p> She stood next to him, her hands on the rails of the gurney. Not touching her husband. The emotion wasn’t there. She had gotten what she wanted, the man she once loved looked near death. Hermione concentrated on keeping her breathing steady, but she was pretty sure Dolohov could see through the glamour covering the bruises. His eyes never left her. She was properly fucked.</p><p>“Will he live?” Her voice cracked as she asked Antonin, her eyes flickered to his. She stood close enough to him that she could smell the coffee on his breath, hints of his cologne, bergamot, and citrus. All mingled with the dozen or so potions. Hermione’s gaze went to the bag in the corner, Ron’s bloody clothes. This is what she wanted… wasn’t it?<br/>
Thinking this was a hell of a time for the Fates to listen.</p><p>“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Granger-Weasley, there’s not much else we can do. Honestly, it doesn’t look good,” Antonin’s gaze drifted to the Auror, “Mr. Potter, if you would be so kind as to retrieve Mr. Weasley’s parents.” He glanced at the soon to be widow, his thoughts straying. Remembering the teenage girl, he met at the Ministry all those years ago. Saying that was a bad night was a huge understatement. </p><p> She was staring straight ahead at the pale body of her husband. Giving Antonin a chance to see the faint blue bruises on her neck, the fleck of blood she missed in the shower that hid behind her ear, and a hint of dark magic hiding inside of her.</p><p>He risked the intimacy of laying a hand on her shoulder, speaking low in her ear, “There are things we should discuss… privately.”</p><p>Harry’s eyes narrowed at Antonin’s request, “Hermione … will you be alright if I go?” The Auror didn’t like Antonin’s hand on his friend.</p><p>Antonin smirked at the Auror’s untrusting tone, “Do you feel comfortable if Mr. Potter leaves?” She looked at him as if she wanted nothing more than for Mr. Potter to leave.</p><p>“I’m fine, Harry, please go get Molly and Arthur,” Chewing on her bottom lip, she turned to face him, “Healer Dolohov, what<br/>
happened to my husband?”</p><p>Monitor spells glowed red as Antonin checked the vital signs. Waiting to respond, he watched Harry leave the room before he turned to look at the little witch in front of him, “That’s what I wanted to ask you, Mrs. Granger-Weasley,” Said with emphasis on her sur-name. He closed the door with the flick of his wand, “Do you want to tell me what happened?” Antonin leaned against the wall watching her reactions, looking for cracks in her armor.</p><p>Hermione cringed internally, looking at her feet because if she looked him in the eye again. She was afraid he would see right through her, “We … we had a row. And Ronald was drinking. I went to clean the kitchen, and he and he was in our living room, and when I came back, he was gone. He’s done this before, gone off to the pub.” Her voice was steady, her hands didn’t shake. She didn’t lie, but she didn’t tell the whole of the truth. Lies<br/>
by omission were still lies. Hermione wondered just how skilled at legilimency he was.</p><p>Antonin had forgotten this was the same girl that had lied to Bellatrix. Even stood up to Bella, under torture no less. He knew she was holding back. There would be nothing to gain in exposing her secrets. So, Antonin nodded, agreeing with her for now, “So, you just went to bed then?”</p><p>Hermione worried at her bottom lip again. If he asked her about the obliviate, she wouldn’t be able to lie to him, “He does it all the time, I hate to admit it, but I guess Ronald’s drinking isn’t much of a secret…” She looked back at Ron, trying to muster some amount of grief, she needed tears. Ronald looked almost comical, his red hair such a stark contrast to the milk-white of his skin, reminding her of face paint on a clown, “I took a shower and then yes… I went to bed.”</p><p> Ronald lay unconscious now, but a thought occurred to her that he might have said something when he arrived, “Did he say anything when he came in?” Anxiously looking at Antonin and back to her husband. Damning her luck, of all the nights for this to happen. It was a perfect shite storm. With Dolohov on shift. Along with Harry accompanying a team of Aurors. But Dolohov, being the Healer in charge of Ron, was the worst of luck. Hermione knew that he suspected something odd. She could see it. She white-knuckled the<br/>
rail of the gurney waiting for Dolohov to call her on the lies. </p><p>Antonin leaned casually against the wall, “Hasn’t said a word. The mediwizards found him unconscious. I’m not a neuro specialist, but I can tell you that he’s sustained severe injuries to the brain. Even if he does live, it’s my professional opinion that Mr. Weasley won’t be talking to anyone,” His empathy was with her, not Ronald. Standing in front of him with her chin up, not a tear in her eye. She indeed was a Wild-thing. He couldn’t break his gaze from the speck of dried blood in her hairline, just behind her ear. Without thinking, he leaned forward, the pad of his thumb wiping away the evidence. He smiled showing her the smear of blood, “You missed a spot,” He started to leave before she could respond, “I promised Mr. Potter I would hand over care to my colleague Healer Berry… and Ms. Granger don’t worry … he’s not going to make it.” With a wave of his hand, the door opened, and Antonin walked out. He needed to find some coffee. This was going to be a long night.</p><p>Hermione was left standing alone with Ron. The feel of Dolohov’s fingers in her hair left her stunned by his actions. She was right, he knew.<br/>
Ronald’s protruding eye stared back at her, still mocking her, even near death.</p><p>She heard the cries of Molly Weasley nearing the room. Arthur held her upright, staggering, wailing. Followed by who Hermione assumed was Antonin’s<br/>
colleague. </p><p>Over the last year, Hermione’s relationship with Molly was strained. As if it were her fault, her precious Ronnikins drank. It was her fault there were no children. To be honest with herself, things with Molly had always been tense. She was never good enough for Ron. Molly never out and out called her a mudblood as Ron had, but she wanted to. </p><p>Hermione could feel the hate rolling off the woman. It wouldn’t be long before the vitriol from the Weasley matriarch began. Hermione wanted to go home, she was beginning to cramp and wanted privacy. Yet she couldn’t tear her eyes from Ronald’s broken body. She didn’t mean for this to happen. It was all spinning out of control, barreling at her like a runaway train, and no matter how hard she tried, it just kept coming at her. She reached for Ron’s hand when the verbal attack began. </p><p>“You…Did this to my baby!” Molly spit at her, “Nothing he ever did was good enough for you… you spoiled bitch! You uppity mudblood cunt, I warned him to stay away from you. But he loved you, and you… you never loved him back!” Molly lay over Ron’s body, stroking his hair, sobbing at the loss of her precious son, “Don’t you touch him… Get away… Get away from my baby. You whore.” </p><p>Hermione refused to react to the venom. All her attention was now on Ronald. Once upon a time, she thought she loved him, maybe she did. Or was it the idea of him. Once upon a time, a long time ago, she thought she wanted a family, a home, and a husband. She thought she could have that with Ronald. Things were different … in the beginning. </p><p>Hermione touched cold, pale, fingers, ignoring Molly. As hard as she tried, she just couldn’t summon the grief that was required. She had no tears for the man in front of her. All of his abuse sat at the forefront of her mind. She may have glamoured the bruises, but she still felt the sting. She wanted to forget the entire night, she wanted to go home and forget that he raped her, that he beat her, stopping only when she showed him the baby. All the cramping in her lower abdomen reminded her of the baby, and that she took the muggle pills. There was no going back. What was done was done.</p><p>Ronald’s skin turned mottled, his breath rattled in his chest as he began to seize again. The blood replenishing charms were violently rejected by his body. Blood poured from his mouth and ears, dripping to the white tiles. Alarms blared, followed by nurses and Antonin Dolohov rushing into the room. Molly screamed as her husband dragged her away from the bed. Hermione stepped away to let them work, edging herself toward the door. A nurse swooped in, sitting her in a chair across the room from Molly. Through the elbows and bodies working, Ronald stared at her with that one wonky eye, judging her. His lips moved or had she imagined it. Through the alarms of the monitors, Healers, nurses, and Molly’s raw emotion, came a stillness in the chaos. </p><p>Hermione watched in awe as Dolohov’s wand danced, both Healers singing spells that tumbled from their lips in a symphony as they fought to save Ronald. </p><p> Dolohov held out a hand to the nurse pushing more potions into Ron. It was over. He called out the time. They had done all they could do. The sound left the room, and from her front-row seat, she watched as Molly crumbled to the floor in what felt like slow motion. She felt Dolohov’s gaze and risked the eye contact. Sweat glistened his brow, his magical depletion obvious even to her. He hadn’t lied when he told her they had tried everything. Failure seemed written across his face. </p><p>Still, Hermione couldn’t squeeze out a single tear. Her abdomen fluttered. She could feel her pulse pounding in her neck, panic, and bile tickling the back of her throat. A warm gush pooled between her legs, as that damned pill had kicked in as blood showed through her pajama bottoms. She glanced over her shoulder. Harry spoke in hushed tones to Dolohov near the door. Hermione just knew she was headed to Azkaban. </p><p>Ronald was dead, Molly draped herself over his body, all of her tears, snot, and wailing. None of it would bring Ronald back. Hermione wished she could summon even half of that anguish. Instead, she sat quietly, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Hoping no one would notice her lack of emotion or the fact that she was sitting in a pool of blood. Maybe they would interpret it as shock. Maybe her cloak would hide the fact she was losing a baby.</p><p>Molly was now standing in front of her, she looked up and caught the backhanded slap against her jaw. Harry grabbed ahold of Molly, pulling her back and restraining her arms. Hermione’s ears rang. She could see Molly’s lips were moving, but she could only imagine what was being said. A pair of strong hands lifted her from the chair and guided her out the door. Ushered down the hall into another exam room and sat on a gurney. She felt the glamour on her injuries drop. </p><p>Antonin Dolohov was in front of her, “Well, Ms. Granger now that we have some privacy. Will you allow me to assess your injuries?”</p><p>Hermione only nodded, trapped by that dark gaze. It was all over. She couldn’t hide the truth anymore, and tears began to well up in her eyes. Everything hurt, the cramping in her abdomen hit her hard enough to cause her to cry out, grabbing hold of Antonin’s arm.</p><p>“All right, now I need you to lay back for me,” Concern on his face, Antonin had his wand out, “Do you want to talk about it? I can have a nurse here if you wish.” </p><p>Hermione shook her head no. She didn’t need an audience. Tears spilled down her cheeks as Antonin lay her back, his wand hovering above her abdomen, “I know that I’m pregnant,” She swallowed hard. </p><p>“And you’re aware that you’re losing the baby?” He said it in the gentlest way, not wanting to sound judgmental, “Besides the bruising, fractured ribs, and bleeding around your liver. I detect a muggle drug.” Antonin pulled up a rolling chair next to the gurney and took her hand in his. “Ms. Granger, I don’t know everything that you have been through, but I’ll tell you that I’ve peeked inside your late husband’s mind.”</p><p>Hermione gasped and tried to sit up, cramps doubled her over. Her gaze locked onto his, “I didn’t mean for this to happen.” She whispered, curling on her side, her fingers still entwined in his. </p><p>“I know you didn’t,” Her grip on his hand tightened. “If you’ll let me, I can fix the injuries. You’re bleeding internally and actively aborting.” </p><p>“I’m going to Azkaban, aren’t I?” She closed her eyes, the tears that failed to make an appearance earlier, now flowed. Here she was, curled on a gurney holding hands with Antonin Dolohov. Blubbering like a little girl. </p><p>“No… Ms. Granger, you are not going to Azkaban. Now, I need to stop the bleeding. What was the muggle drug you took?” Antonin pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his cloak and handed it to her. Thinking this was something his mother would be proud of him for. </p><p>“I don’t remember… oh for fucks sake,” Hermione groaned, “Wait I have the bottle in my bag,” Antonin helped her into a sitting position. She noticed he used this time to run diagnostic spells while she dug through her purse. She sighed heavily, finally handing him the bottle.</p><p>“Ms. Granger, if you can remove your cloak and lay back. I’d like to get started,” Antonin took her bag and cloak, setting them on a chair, “This is a privet room, I can get a nurse if you’re uncomfortable.”</p><p>“No, please, I don’t want anyone to know just yet. It will be all over the Prophet by morning,” Hermione resigned to the fact she would go to prison. It seemed inevitable. </p><p>“What makes you think you’re going to Azkaban?” He pulled a blanket from a cupboard and covered her legs. Seating himself again on the rolling stool, he drew out his wand and began dealing with the muggle induced abortion. The foolish little witch could have killed herself.</p><p>“You said you know, you looked in Ronald’s mind… you know everything,” Hermione began to cry, blowing her nose on the beautiful silk kerchief Dolohov handed her. </p><p>“No, luv, I said I was unaware of the details of your situation, but I had peeked into your husband's mind. By that, I glimpsed at your dismal living conditions. Now hold still,” Antonin drew out the remains of the pregnancy, vanishing it before it was seen. Antonin worked quickly, unsure if someone would start looking for her, “It’s called patient confidentiality. If you don’t want anyone to know that you were pregnant, Ms. Granger, then no one will ever know. </p><p>“And if you suspect a crime?” Hermione chewed on her bottom lip, shooting him nervous looks.</p><p>Antonin continued healing the numerous bruises. Refraining from eye contact, he couldn’t look at her. He needed to concentrate on what he was doing because if he stopped, the rage would overflow. “There was no crime Ms. Granger. Your husband had an unfortunate accident.” </p><p>“You didn’t say anything … about what you saw?</p><p>“What I witnessed is no one’s business,” This time, he looked at her, “I don’t need the gory details. I can piece together what transpired by your injuries,” He tucked his wand away and took her hand in his once more, “Go home Ms. Granger, take a hot shower, please eat something and sleep. It’s over, my report will reflect that your husband died due to an unfortunate run-in with a muggle bus… that’s it. I’ll have my nurse bring in some potions, and please, please follow up with your Healer in a few days.”</p><p>“Can’t I follow up with you?” Hermione started to panic. She didn’t want to see another Healer, another Healer would ask questions.</p><p>Antonin didn’t want to get involved, the last thing he needed or wanted was to be involved, “Sure, of course, you can. I have the next four days off,” It was out of his mouth before he could stop himself, “I’m back on Tuesday night, just come into the ER.” Entwining himself further, he wrote down his address, handing it to her, “Owl me if you have any issues. Go home and get some rest, my nurse will be in the potions in a few minutes.” He turned and left the room. The sun would be coming up soon. </p><p>Antonin retreated to the Healers box, he had a stack of charting to finish, a medical examiners report to fill out, thankfully the tech left a coffee on his desk. Steaming hot under a stasis charm. From his desk, he glanced up in time to see the newly widowed Ms. Granger leaving the exam room. He referred to her in her maiden name only. Because after what he had witnessed, the wounds he healed, and the hurt in her eyes. Antonin felt Mr. Weasley didn’t deserve the honor of claiming her as a wife. He watched the tiny witch straighten her cloak, taking the prescriptions from his nurse. She turned briefly, making eye contact with him. The tears were gone, her head held high.  </p><p>“Her husband has been sent to the morgue. Do you think she wants to see him one more time?” Healer Berry had come in behind him, “That Mrs. Weasley and I mean the older one is a right piece of work. I can’t believe that the poor girl stayed married to that bloke… She sure carried herself well, very composed.”</p><p>Antonin chuckled, “Yes, she does carry herself well. Most definitely a wild thing, Berry.” He took a sip of the coffee, leaning back in his chair, “I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A/N: I want to thank everyone that has left reviews. They are awesome, and I appreciate every single one of them. I also want to apologize for some mistakes I went back and found and fixed. I had switched twins from Parvati to Padma and missed a few. I also misspelled Patil. I fixed the glaring mistakes, but if you see any more, please let me know. I want to add that I'm really sorry it took so long for me to update. I will try to do better, I promise. Big thank you to my Alpha / Beta Lioness_Snake </p><p>Whisky Tango<br/>
There's a fever burning deep in my bones<br/>
Even when I'm with you<br/>
I'm on my own<br/>
Forget what I have done<br/>
Sometimes I've lost you<br/>
Sometimes I've won<br/>
Just let me do<br/>
Everything I can<br/>
'Cause everything I do is for you.</p><p> </p><p>Chapter Six</p><p>It hurt her more than she thought, losing the baby.</p><p> Not her husband's death. Right now, Hermione couldn't afford the luxury of grief. Instead, she took the potions from the nurse. Straightened her cloak, pulling it tight against her. Thankfully, the nurse cleaned the blood from her pajamas with a Tergeo charm before leaving the room. Too tired and shaken to even clean herself. Damned muggle drugs, Dolohov was right. She could have been killed.</p><p> Her thoughts went back to her interactions with Dolohov. Who would have thought the Death Eater had such a great bedside manner. Her fingers closed around the slip of paper with his address, she found it odd that it brought her comfort. Feeling that somehow he was on her side. That was something she wasn't used too. She risked a glance back down the hall where Ron lay, wondering if they had moved him, hoping Molly would be gone. Instead, she found Dolohov staring back at her from his desk, she nodded in acknowledgment, quickly turning on her heel. She wanted to get out of there before she was seen by Harry or the rest of the Weasley clan.</p><p>Apparating to the back garden in the early morning drizzle. Hermione hesitated at the back steps. The house sat silently in the darkness, the backdoor creaking as she opened it. She turned on the lights. The drip, drip, drip of the leaky faucet echoed in the too clean kitchen. As much as she wanted to crawl into bed, she knew she needed to set the living room to rights. People would be flooding in once the sun came up. She folded her cloak, laying it over a chair. She went to the door that led to the living room, part of her wondering if Ron would be passed out on the couch, and this was all just a bizarre dream. She flinched when the door creaked as she pushed it open.</p><p> Streetlights glowed with sodium orange, burning through the heavy drapes setting the bloodstains on the couch ablaze. How Harry missed it, she would never know. The dark carpet spread before her like the night sky, glittering with broken glass. Air still heavy with the copper tang of violence.  Hermione caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Darker than a shadow, it hung in the corner as small as a bird, watching, perched waiting for her. Its tendrils creeping from the shadows, slithering down the wall…</p><p>"Lumos," A choked whisper escaped her lips. Her wand was out, trained on the thing lurking in her house. Light-filled the room and whatever had been waiting in the darkness disappeared with the light. Ronald wasn't on the couch, yet a nightmare just the same. Blood stained the floor, soaking the couch's cushions where Ronald had sat just a few hours ago. Empty bottles cluttered about. She could still feel his anger hovering in a toxic cloud.</p><p> Fanfuckingtastic, she thought. After everything she had been through, all of Ronald's shite she had to deal with his angry ghost. Or at least she hoped it was just his angry ghost. That was something she could deal with. She had used dark magic, Unforgivables that ended in death. That sort of thing attracted dark energy. She couldn't worry about that right now. The first thing Hermione knew she needed to do was to fill her wand with mundane spells to cover her use of the forbidden ones. A nagging feeling still tugged at her, that the questioning was not over.</p><p>Clean-up needed to be done the muggle way and quickly. Hermione gathered her supplies and set her wand to folding laundry, making tea, all the normal spells one would find on a working witches wand. All while she scrubbed the stains of the previous night into a bucket and down the drain. </p><p>The sun broke through the clouds, streaming in the kitchen window. Hermione finally sat at her kitchen table. She used her wand to make eggs and toast, a strong cup of tea, and maybe she could get a little sleep before Harry and Ginny showed up. She knew they would. Harry had questions without a doubt. She lay her head down on her arm for just a moment… her eyes closed, and she drifted off.</p><p>Hermione's eyes fluttered open as a warm tickling sensation slithered down her leg. She was bleeding again, Dolohov told her to expect this. She slept long enough, anyway. The house was put to rights. All that was left was a long hot shower. As good a job as Dolohov did in healing her, she was still sore.</p><p> Her hand touched the door leading to the living room, Hermione froze, the hair on the back of her neck prickled. She pressed her ear to the wood straining to hear, drawing her wand she cast a revealing charm that revealed… nothing. Her nerves were frayed, her shower called to her. That room was scrubbed from top to bottom, and she had found nothing just a few hours prior. She took a deep breath and pushed the door open, shoving the fear aside, daring whatever lurked to make itself known. </p><p>Sunshine chased the shadows into hiding. In the light of day, the room hid all the horrors of the night. She stood in front of the couch, staring at the spot where Ronald had sat. Still unable to conjure up tears or any grief for that matter. With the blood scrubbed away, and the living room now looking like it did on any other day. But that's how her entire marriage to Ron played out. He made the mess, and she cleaned it up. She kept the secrets. Always hiding the ugly truth. Even with his death. </p><p> The brutal reality of the abortion was sliding down her leg once more, reminding her that she needed to head to the loo. Never in a million years did she ever consider an abortion, but that's what she had done, popping those muggle pills without a second thought. She padded quietly to bath, stripping off her clothes as she went. Feeling numb, running on autopilot. </p><p>The hot water washed away some of the exhaustion and the blood from what was beginning to feel like a mistake that she couldn't take back. Losing track of time in the steam-filled shower, she went over last night in her head. She needed to. As painful as it was, she had to get her story straight, consistent with what she had spewed to Dolohov. She closed her eyes, and the memories of last night rushed back. All the things that were said and done. It all seemed to come back to her. It was all her fault. Ronald knew it, with his accusing glare, locking eyes with her as he died Dolohov knew it, the minute she walked into the room. It was her fault. </p><p>She left the shower when her fingers began to prune. Pulling on her fluffiest robe, a towel wrapped her wild curls. Potions that Dolohov sent home with her stared at her from the dresser. She took the one for pain and the other to slow the bleeding. Her thoughts returning to how gentle he had been, most of all his discretion. He could have left her there in that room. Bleeding all over the floor next to Ronald and his screeching mother. She could have kissed him for his kindness. Harry should have been that kind, but that would be her fault for not telling him the truth about Ron. </p><p>She trusted her instincts, feeling that Harry just wouldn't ever take her side. </p><p>Hermione sat in front of the mirror at her vanity table, admiring Dolohov's work on her face. Her gaze drifted to the reflection of her bed, a bed she shared with Ron. The hollow pit in her stomach seemed to grow larger, throbbing pain behind her eyes threatened to turn into a full-blown migraine if she didn't get some sleep. Hermione crawled into her bed, sliding beneath the heavy duvet. She pulled the covers over her head and shut her eyes. Ron's stale scent clung to the blankets, her fingers drifted over his side of the bed, dipping as she followed the curve where he would have been. She pulled his pillow tight against her chest, inhaling deeply. Regretting it instantly. Her mind might have felt nostalgic, but her body remembered the abuse.</p><p>Hermione rolled over in time to vomit on her bedroom floor. Stale body odor and cheap beer did not bring back happy memories. She vanished the sick with a quick cleansing spell. Brushed her teeth, washed her face with cool water, and threw Ronald's pillow to the other side of the bedroom. Changing the sheets of her bed before climbing back under the covers. She would have slept on the couch, but the bastard's scent seemed to be everywhere. </p><p>Hermione lay on her side, staring out her window, every time she shut her eyes, Ron's face stared back. The slip of paper with Dolohov's address lay on her nightstand, and her fingers reached for it. Holding that slip of paper gave her a bit of hope. Maybe she would be alright, someone out there knew the truth about Ron, someone believed her. She drifted off once more, this time with the memory of dark eyes and a steady hand holding hers.</p><p>OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO</p><p>Antonin watched Hermione as she exited the Emergency Department. Trouble, complicated, way too much baggage, trouble. All wrapped up in a soft grey cloak. He knew he shouldn't look at her that way, but he did. It wasn't her physical appearance that caught his attention. It was her strength and grace under pressure. Or at least that's what he was going to tell himself. </p><p>"Really, Antonin?" Padma's amused tone pulled him from his thoughts, "Hermione Weasley? I thought you had better taste?"</p><p>"Jealous?" He teased. She was jealous, and it amused him far more than it should.</p><p>"Never, I'm not that type and especially of Hermione… she's so plain," Padma scrunched her nose.</p><p>"Really, Padma?"</p><p>"What?" Feigning innocence, "I'm sorry. That came out very petty. I apologize. Can we go to breakfast?" She took Antonin by the hand, pulling him from his seat.</p><p>Antonin draped an arm over his friend's shoulder, "After the night I had, I could use a fry-up."</p><p>"Can you tell me about it?" Padma leaned into him, slipping an arm around his waist. </p><p>Antonin had the feeling she wanted to be more than just friends. She was beautiful and brilliant, he had no doubt they would be a perfect match, "I might as well, it will be all over the Prophet by the time we get to the cafeteria." As much as the idea appealed to him, to take the exotic flower that was Padma and fuck her into the mattress. He refrained, she was more of a little sister to him, and he wanted to keep it that way. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, ruffling her hair as a big brother might do. He knew it would irritate her and maybe quell any romantic notions she was conjuring in her pretty little head.</p><p> </p><p>With his full English in front of him, Antonin tucked in. Padma sat across from him with a dainty scone, sipping her tea. Antonin opted for more coffee. Padma teasing that he would never sleep. Little did she know that he could drink a pot of coffee and still sleep with the pills he was taking. </p><p>Padma broke the silence, "So, tell me the juicy gossip?" She leaned in, her fingers grazing his arm.</p><p>"Padma, you know I can't. That would be against the rules," He reached over and took a newspaper from the next table, "Here, it's already front-page news."</p><p>Her eyes scanned the headline 'Ronald Bilious Weasley KILLED BY MUGGLES!!!!'</p><p>"Wow, fine, but it doesn't give any details… please, please, pretty please. I'll write a paper on the dangers of muggle transportation to make it relevant to my job." Her big brown eyes pleaded to him.</p><p>"Fine… as long as you write the paper. I can tell you." Throughout breakfast, Antonin told her of the double-decker bus and the damage it had inflicted. He gave her all the gory details and the treatment plan that failed, leaving out the alcohol and the domestic abuse. The less anyone knew, the better. </p><p>Antonin downed the last of his coffee, "I'm done with my charts and have the next four days off. I think I'll head home and enjoy some peace and quiet. "</p><p>"You should move closer to London, really Antonin. I think you would enjoy it." Padma's coy smile wasn't lost on him.</p><p>"You mean you might enjoy it," He smiled back. A bit of flirting never hurt, "Luv, I'm just a bit of a long-distance jump. I like Blyth. It's small, no one bothers me, and oddly, the sound of the sea is soothing." Antonin stood to leave, "Come by Friday night. I'll fix us dinner, and you can read me your paper on Weasley's tragic death." He leaned down and kissed her cheek, taking the newspaper with him. He knew he was leading her on and sending all kinds of mixed signals. Still, part of him wanted to know the big 'what if,' and he was beginning to have inappropriate thoughts about his friend and co-worker.</p><p>He left her sitting at the table, turning back just once to wink. By the time he reached the apparition point for employees, he had regretted all the flirting he had done with Padma. She was young, too young, and he would undoubtedly hurt her feelings, losing his only friend. He made up his mind to fix her dinner and sit her down for a serious discussion. </p><p>Apparating home Antonin reappeared in the side alley near his flat. Morning on the coast was far different than morning in London. Sun streamed through the hospital's windows where here the fog hugged the coastal town, cool mist and the sound of the waves had already begun to calm his frayed nerves. He wanted a hot shower, a wank, and a cup of tea, then he could process last night. Seeing Molly Weasley brought up too many bad memories. </p><p>"Good morning Mr. Dolohov," His landlady waved as he entered the side entryway, "Good morning Agnes."</p><p>"Rough night, dear?" She asked.</p><p>"Something like that," He called back, "I'm off for a few days, be right as rain with some sleep."</p><p>"Well, you have a good long lie-in, dear."</p><p>Antonin trudged up the stairs to his flat. Gummy from three straight night shifts. Kicking off his shoes at the door, he continued to shed clothes as he made his way to the loo. He loved his shower. Hot water a luxury not given in Azkaban. Shedding his trousers on the floor of his bedroom. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He had gained weight and muscle; his face no longer had the gaunt and haunted appearance of a prisoner. He wasn't a bad looking bloke minus the network of scars covering his torso. The Dark Lord was fond of drawing blood. He frowned at his reflection, he could use a bit more muscle, maybe take up running. Nightshift had a tendency to put on the pounds. He reminded himself of his age. Maybe flying would be a better option. </p><p>The idea of being with Padma was starting to appeal to him. The bantering over his fry-up with her still lingered in his mind. She was fun to flirt with, he enjoyed her company. He couldn't think of a good reason not to date her. She was sexy as hell. Thinking about his cute little co-worker had him half-mast. The dark wizard in him grinned wickedly, as he thought of Padma's huge black eyes and her pouty lips. His cock was rock hard in a second. Turning on the taps to just below scalding, he stepped into the tub, ducking his head beneath the stream. Washing away the remnants of the night.</p><p> It had been a rough three shifts, and he was looking forward to sinking into his bed, and not moving for at least twelve hours. He groaned as the water hit his shoulders. Squirting a bit of soap into his hand, he massaged his scalp, working away the kinks in his neck. More of that exotic beauty trickled into his thoughts, black doe eyes, her plump little mouth. He knew just where he would like those lips… her on her knees, his fingers threaded through those long dark locks. Antonin tipped his head back, rinsing the shampoo from his hair, soap ran in rivulets down his lean torso following the old scars etched across his skin. Padma's dark sensuality gave way to whisky colored eyes, caramel locks, the soft hum of her magic as he held her hand in his. Leaning his forehead against the cool tiles of the shower, he closed his eyes. Her orange blossom scent hiding the tang of violence. Sweet, intoxicating, it lured him in, drawing him to her. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, leaving him spent, panting, head-spinning like some teenager.</p><p>It took several minutes under the hot stream to catch his breath. Chastising himself, he was too old for teen fantasy. Wanking in the shower, thinking of a girl half his age. Merlin's hairy bollocks, both girls were half his age and one he considered a close mate. </p><p> Stepping out, he dried himself off and pulled on his favorite flannel nightclothes. He found the Daily Prophet, where he dropped it on the kitchen counter. He had come a long way with his wandless culinary skills in the last few months, not needing his wand anymore for simple spells. His tea was ready for him. Taking both to his favorite chair that overlooked the bay. </p><p>He noticed the headline, 'Ronald Bilius Weasley KILLED BY MUGGLES,' and his first thought was what a load of graphorn shite. Total propaganda by the Ministry, people wondered why there were so many followers of the Dark Lord. With all the muggle blaming hatred being pumped into the public, it had made it easy for him to gain power. The entire article blamed muggles as if they purposely targeted Mr. Weasley. Not a single word about his drinking or that he stumbled into the roadway and into the path of a double-decker. All of this was good for Ms. Hermione Granger, he refused to even think of her as a Weasley. No one suspected anything nefarious had happed to the late Weasley boy. As far as he was concerned, everyone could go on believing muggles were responsible. </p><p>Padma had taken his mind off the notorious Ms. Granger, however brief. Now she was back, and he couldn't get the young woman out of his head. Why he was thinking of the now-widowed Ms. Granger in that way, he didn't know. One thing he was certain of, she had a whole lot of baggage. He chuckled at that as if he had none of his own. If he was honest with himself. Being with Padma was a nice idea, but one that would never happen. He stared down at the ink, staining his left arm. It no longer writhed or burned. The skull and the snake lay frozen, ordinary, unmoving. The sinister air it once produced disappeared with the death of the Dark Lord. It tingled on occasion if it felt dark magic, and it had tingled last night when he touched Ronald Weasley.</p><p>Exhaustion began to creep into his bones while he sipped at his tea. Drizzling rain gave way to a downpour, rain pelleted the window, and Antonin lit his fireplace before pulling the blinds. He didn't use blackout spells on the drapes preferring not to be in complete darkness. The nightmares crept in on occasion. Being able to open his eyes and see kept things from turning into a full-blown panic attack. As much as he liked to think he had his shit together, he, in fact, did not. Months of therapy, he had to remind himself that he had come a long way in a short amount of time. His therapist was proud of him, his supervisors had all written stellar reviews to the parole board. He was being released from parole earlier than was planned, due to Alice Longbottom. Yet all of this would not have been possible if it weren't for Mrs. Granger-Weasley. Maybe that's why he kept her secrets. He owed her a debt. </p><p>Antonin lay in his bed listening to the pattering of rain, remembering her soft brown eyes and the feel of her fingers entwined with his. </p><p> </p><p>Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo</p><p> </p><p>Late afternoon and the floo rattled, waking Hermione from a deep sleep. Someone was trying to come through. Hermione grabbed her wand, shaking off the fog, her heart pounding in her chest. She prepared for the worst, hoping it wouldn't be Molly. She wasn't ready for Molly. She took a deep breath and dropped the wards. Harry, followed by Ginny, stepped into the room. </p><p>Harry scooped her into his arms, "Hermione, we were worried! What in Merlin's name happened to you?" Harry pulled her into his arms in a tight hug, "Where did you go?"</p><p>Hermione hugged him back, stifling the sobs, "I had to get away… I can't believe he's gone, Harry…" Her tears were real, not for Ron but for the baby. </p><p>"Dolohov took you… I looked for you." The tone was more accusing than concerned. </p><p>"He took me to a private room and gave me a potion to help calm me," The lie came effortlessly. She wiped away the tears and glanced at Ginny. </p><p>"What did you do to my brother Hermione? What did you do to him?" Ginny hissed. Glaring at her, "Why was he out on the streets at some muggle pub in the middle of the night?"</p><p>Hermione was taken back by the other girl's venom, "You know I had no control over anything that Ron did." Still, she wasn't going to stand there and take any crap off the younger Weasley, "Ginny, I did nothing wrong. Bloody fucking hell Ginny, he was a grown fucking man!" She was losing her cool. With frayed nerves and little sleep Hermione was close to breaking.</p><p>The floo crackled to life as Molly stepped through. She didn't bother dusting herself off," How dare you raise your voice to my little girl! You bitch!"</p><p>"I'll remind you both that this is MY HOUSE!" She was tired of the Weasleys', most of all, Molly.</p><p>"This is just as much Ronald's, and I have every right to be here." Molly seethed with anger, "You have no right to bar the floo against me!" Wailing at Hermione, "I've been trying for HOURS…how dare you, keep me from my babies things."<br/>
Hermione's eyes narrowed. She would not be spoken down to in her own home, "Well, in case you forgot, Ronald is dead. This is my house, and you need to leave!" Being blunt was the only way to go with the matriarch.</p><p>Molly shrieked, diving at Hermione. Harry blocked her path, stepping in front of the charging witch., "Molly NO! … Hermione is right; this is her house! I f you can't be civil, you need to leave." He backed her up to the couch, "Molly sit down … please."</p><p>Molly collapsed to the sofa sobbing, Ginny at her side, "I'm sorry, Harry dear I just… I just need clothes to bury my babbby innnnnnn…" </p><p>Hermione was unimpressed by the theatrics, "I'm his wife, and I'll pick out his clothes."</p><p>"Really well, where the bloody hell did you go? You left… I was the one that signed all the papers and arranged for the coroner. Where were you?" Molly hissed. Dabbing at her nose with a kerchief. </p><p>After all that she went through to keep her pregnancy secret, she wasn't about to tell anyone now, "I had a bit of breakdown and required a calming potion…you'll forgive me. My husband had just died!" Hermione spit back at her, "Harry, get her out of my house!"</p><p>Ginny stood up," Don't talk to my mum that way!"</p><p>Molly struggled to her feet, "I will not leave… I want to know what your hiding …I want answers… I want to know why Ronald was at a muggle pub in the middle of the night. This is all your fault!" Spittle flew from her lips, her face as red as her hair, "Filthy, mudblood bitch… never did learn respect… I would have thought Ronald would have beat a little of it into you. But no, he was too soft-hearted."</p><p> Harry didn't seem as shocked as Hermione thought he should be. Stunned into silence, she glanced back and forth between her friend and her former mother-in-law. A glimmer caught her eye, just under the sofa. A shard of glass she must have missed. Panic squeezed her chest, catching in her throat, "Get…Out!" She wanted to send the nastiest of curses at both women. A surge of darkness flowed through her veins. A blood boiling curse sat coiled and ready to strike. </p><p>"Harry I want her investigated. She's hiding something! I just know it!" Molly snarled, "This house is too clean… When have you ever seen this house, this clean Ginny?"</p><p>"Never Mum, never," Ginny glared at her, "Seriously Harry, she's not telling us the truth. We want answers… and what is that smell? I smell something funny, don't you?"</p><p>"Ginny Luv,… Mum, why don't you go home," Harry took each by the arm, steering them toward the floo, "Hermione, don't go anywhere. I'm coming back, and I want to talk to you." </p><p>Harry spoke to her like an Auror, not a friend, "I'm serious, Hermione. I have a few questions myself… I need you to stay here," Harry kissed Ginny on the cheek, speaking low in her ear, "I'll look into this Sweetie don't worry."</p><p>Hermione stood transfixed. Frozen with fear, for one, two, three heartbeats. Harry was going to find out. She dropped to her knees, scrambling to the couch to reach underneath. She grabbed at the tiny piece of glass. Digging her fingers into the carpet, looking for any more stray shards. Finding two more before she heard the floo begin to rattle once more. Hermione shoved the pieces into her pocket, slicing her finger on the sharpest fragment. She jumped to her feet and bolted for the kitchen.</p><p>She was rinsing her finger in the sink when Harry stepped through.</p><p>"Hermione, come sit down … please." He walked to the table and pulled out a chair for her, "You're acting strange, and I want to know what's going on. It smells like bleach and hydrogen peroxide in here."</p><p>She stood with her back to Harry, fighting to control her breathing. She had managed to stop her bleeding finger covering it up by filling the teapot, "I need a cuppa, care for one?"</p><p>"No, just please sit, so I can get this over with." </p><p>"No, Harry. You can wait for me to fix myself tea before you barge into my home and demand audience with me." She was tired of people demanding things of her. Tired of doing everything everyone else wanted her to do, just to keep the peace, "Harry James Potter, you can sit down and wait." She took a steady breath, telling herself that Harry knew nothing. He was grasping at straws. She turned around and set the teapot on the stove, lighting the flame with her wand's tip. Methodically going about her ritual to prepare her tea. She took her time with the preparation, and only when she was finished did she pull out a chair and sit across from her childhood friend. </p><p>"Do you want to tell me what happened last night, Hermione?" Harry fiddled with the edge of the tablecloth, unable to make eye contact.</p><p>"Are you asking as my friend Harry of are you asking as an Auror?" Hermione sipped her tea, her confidence growing. A thought tickled the back of her thoughts. Just how hard would it be to Imperious her friend. For Harry she remembered, Imperious didn't work.</p><p>He let out a deep sigh, "As your friend. I know Molly can be a bit much… I needed to get her out of your house, and if you remember. I'm married to Ginny." </p><p>She brought the tea to her lips, blowing the steam from the surface, "Hmmmm… Yeah, well, you were in the room, Harry. I don't think I would describe that outburst as 'A bit much' how about we try that again?"</p><p>"Hermione I'm sorry… What the bloody fuck am I supposed to do? Ginny's' my wife. Molly is my bloody mother-in-law. I have to live with these women," Dark circles framed his eyes exhaustion lining his face, "Just tell me what happened, Hermione."</p><p>"What happened was the same thing that happened night after night, Harry. Ronald drank, every day, all day. Ronald drank," She kept her tone even, her eye contact steady, "I came home, and Ronald fought with me. We had a horrible row… he drank everything in the house, while I cleaned up the kitchen. So yes, I cleaned the house, dishes piled high in the sink, empty bottles of ale."</p><p>"Hermione why didn't you tell me he had gotten this bad?" </p><p>"Because I didn't want you to worry, you felt bad enough having to fire him." She would tell him the truth, omitting the irrelevant, or otherwise incriminating circumstances, "I went to shower, and when I came out he was gone… It wasn't unusual… Harry, he was a regular at that muggle pub. Ask them." She levitated the teapot and an extra cup, pouring for Harry and refilling her own.</p><p>"I'm going to have to question them… I have to speak to Dolohov as well," Harry took the offered tea from her, "Speaking of Dolohov, where did he take you?" Harry set his cup down, placed both hands on the table, and leaned towards her, "Hermione, before you answer, I'm going to tell you that I did notice the bruises and the blood. I'm not stupid; I am an Auror. Please tell me the truth."</p><p>Hermione swallowed hard, deciding to reveal a bit more, "As I've said, we had a horrible row… Ronald struck me, several times … I struck him as well, he cut his head on the table. My lip was bleeding. I didn't want anyone to know," The tears she had mustered for Harry weren't working as well as she had hoped. She was going to have to tell him a little more truth, "I was pregnant, Harry… Ronald pinned me to the ground and … and I… I lost the baby. I lost Ronald, and then I lost my baby," The tears were real now, "Dolohov noticed me hemorrhaging all over his floor and scooped me up. He treated me, gave me potions, and told me to rest. You can confirm all of this with him." She wiped at the tears, pulling a kerchief from the pocket of her jumper.<br/>
"I'm so sorry, Mione," Harry came around the table, wrapping his arms around her, "I'm so sorry this happened to you."</p><p>"I know you have to investigate. This is the last thing I wanted, but I swear to you on the Sword of Gryffindor Harry that it was an accident."</p><p>Harry took his seat once more, refreshing both teacups.  Offering one to Hermione, "I believe you, I still have to talk to people, mainly to placate Molly. She may be a bit more sympathetic when she finds out you were pregnant." He reached across the table, taking her hand in his, "Eat something, go back to bed, everything will be alright… I'll take care of Molly and Ginny."</p><p>Harry kissed her cheek and walked out. Hermione sat unmoving, staring at the tea leaves in the bottom of her cup. Giggling to herself at the thought of what Professor Trelawney would say. She was doomed. The clock chimed four, and Hermione's stomach grumbled. Harry was right; she needed to eat. Needing to eat and wanting to were two different things. Instead, she poured another cup of tea, spilling a few drops onto the table. Unconsciously reaching for the dark blue handkerchief. She had forgotten to return it. Her fingers toyed at the stitched edges of the fine silk that she'd wiped her tears with and her nose. Laying it on the table, she used her wand to give it a quick clean. Folding it neatly, she returned it to the pocket in her jumper. Fidgeting with her fingernails, nauseated, anxious, no control… </p><p>It was beginning to get dark, shadows lengthened in their hiding places, and the clock's tick the only other sound in the room. A million scenarios running through her head. What would the Healers have in their report? What would the muggles at the pub remember? Most of all, what would Dolohov have to say? Would he keep her secret? Antonin Dolohov was so different than the man she remembered. </p><p>How could she forget the man that tried to kill her ten years ago? Sitting alone in her kitchen, she brought back that vivid memory when he cast a silent spell towards her. She still carried that scar, thin, pale purple now running across her chest. Barely noticeable, Ronald mentioned it often. But then Ron mentioned a lot of things. Her finger toyed at the top of her collarbone, where the scar began. There was no hate in his eyes when he cast that curse. He simply looked in her direction. Like swatting at a fly. </p><p>Rain moved in, and the temperature in the house dropped. Hermione decided to get up from the table and force herself to eat. She rummaged through her refrigerator. Feeling fragmented and on edge, she took her outdated yogurt and went to the living room. Thinking a little mindless telly would calm her nerves. She flicked her wand to bring the fireplace to life and curled up in her chair. Tucking her legs beneath her bum, covering herself with a throw. </p><p>The sun quickly set this time of year, the flickering from the television, and the faint glow of the fire quickly became the only light in the room. Hermione began to doze off as the Evening news started. Laughter from an old sitcom was the first sound to reach her ears, but it wasn't what woke her from her deep sleep. There was a movement in the air around her, darkness to her shadow on the wall, watching her. </p><p>Her fingers curled around her wand, "Lumos." She whispered, her voice trembling. The hair on her neck stood on end, blood began to run down her legs. </p><p>Light flooded the room, forcing whatever it was back into hiding. She took a shaky breath, the air thickened, and Hermione flicked her wand at the window. Letting the cold night air inside. Curtains billowed, as the wind and rain raged. Something watched and waited.</p><p>This was getting old. She wasn't sure if this was the effect of using dark magic or Ronald's angry ghost. It was certain that it needed to stop before it escalated, and there was only one person who might know what was going on.</p><p>She closed the window with a silent spell and went to change into more suitable traveling attire, Blyth would be cold. She pulled on her heaviest winter cloak. Dolohov's address clenched in her fist. She stepped onto her back porch and apparated to Northern England's stormy coast.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A/N: The long over-due chapter seven, thank you, everyone. I love the reviews, you guys are awesome and I'm sorry it took so long to get this chapter out. I'll try to do better. Thank you to my Alpha reader Lioness_Snake for the undying support. I hope you enjoy it.</p>
<p>Whisky Tango <br/>Chapter Seven</p>
<p>You’re the lighthouse when I’m lost at sea<br/> You’re my band-aid when I bleed<br/> Am I hypnotizing you, like you’re hypnotizing me<br/>Forget what I have done<br/> Sometimes I’ve lost you<br/> Sometimes I’ve won</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The storm in London paled when compared to the raging maelstrom on the North Coast. Driving rain pelted Hermione as she appeared on a darkened beach. The ocean roared; waves crashed onto the sea wall sending spray high into the air. Howling winds whipped at her cloak, knocking her off balance. She was soaked by the time she reached the boardwalk. This was the only place she could visualize in Blyth, and over a decade since she had been there. She stood for a moment staring out at the storm-battered coastline remembering a warm beach, her mother and father sitting side by side as they watched her play in the waves. Maybe one day, she thought, they could return here. For now, she needed to get out of the rain. </p>
<p> Streetlights flickered, beaten by the sheets of rain. Hermione made her way towards town, steps quickening, echoing on the boardwalk. The tingle of impending doom raised the little hairs at the back of her neck as a darkness crept closer. Just as panic began to raise its ugly head, she could make out a sign. Something was open. The lights were on at the Oddfellow Arms. Wrapping her cloak tightly, she hurried towards the pub. There she could get a drink and hopefully her bearings. Loud voices reached her ears as they drifted to the street.   </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Raucous laughter filled the establishment, and locals lined the barstools. All were staring up at the football game on the television. Hermione found an empty spot at the bar.  She made eye contact with the bartender, “Can I get a pint and a shot of whisky.”</p>
<p>The man returned with her drink, and Hermione slid the slip of paper with address towards him, “Do you know where I might find this house”</p>
<p>“Hmmm… Let’s see…Croft Rd, Blyth NE24. Croft Rd will be just round the corner …From the looks of you, I’d say you’re walking. You might want to ring for a taxi cab.” He wiped the counter, nodding toward the rear of the bar, “You’ll find a phone in the back.”</p>
<p>“Thanks,” A taxi would be simpler than wandering up and down the streets in the dark, in the pouring rain.  She chuckled at the thought of showing up at Dolohov’s door, looking like a drowned rat. She knocked back the shot of amber liquid savoring the burn. She’d need one more to gather enough courage. She raised a finger, getting the bartender’s attention, “Another?” </p>
<p>He smiled at her while he poured, giving her a wink before moving on to new patrons. Hermione watched him while she downed the second shot. Sipping at her pint of lager. She wasn’t really sure what she was going to say to Dolohov. She barely knew the man other than the one incident at the Ministry when he attempted to murder her and what she had learned from his case file. What she did know for certain was the Dark Wizard would have answers. She downed the second shot. Taking her pint with her, Hermione went to the back of the pub to call for a taxi cab.</p>
<p>The ride to Dolohov’s flat was truly around the corner, and if not for the weather, Hermione could have walked. Before she could talk herself out of going, she found herself alone in the downpour, in a very dark alley.</p>
<p> Standing in front of the door, she began to have second thoughts. She couldn’t remain there and think for too long. The wind howled, and the rain came in buckets. So, much she thought for not looking like a drowned bilge rat.  She didn’t want to apparate back so quickly. She was tired and ran the risk of splinching herself. Now soaked to the bone due to her indecisiveness, she mustered her Gryffindor courage and knocked on the door. Standing out in the rain with wind battering her, she began to wonder if he was home. He did say he had days off but that she was welcome to stop by if she had any problems, and technically she had a problem. Not a medical one but a problem just the same. She knocked again. Shuffling her feet, digging her hands deeper into her pockets, thinking this was a really bad idea. He didn’t know her. Who was she to him? A patient, that’s what she was. She started to turn around and attempt to apparate back home when the porch light came on.</p>
<p>Antonin poked his head out into the storm, “Did you forget that you’re a witch?” </p>
<p>Hermione would have been offended if it weren’t for the smile on the dark wizard’s face, “I… I don’t…” Stammering at him like a schoolgirl. </p>
<p>He opened the door and pulled her inside a warm, dry well-lit foyer, “Can’t have you catching a cold now, can we?” Antonin motioned for her to follow him up the stairs. His hand went to the small of her back, “What brings you all the way out up here on a night even the sea monsters would stay home?”</p>
<p>Hermione peered up at him from behind a curtain of wet hair. He was close. The heat from his hand on her back could be felt through her cloak as they climbed the staircase, “I…I…,” Was all she could muster before her teeth began to chatter like the stupid muggle toy her parents kept in their office. Horrible chattering jumping teeth, and that’s how she imagined she looked. </p>
<p>Antonin helped her remove her cloak at the top of the stairs, “Do you mind?” He held his wand out in an offer to dry her.<br/>Hermione smiled, “Please,” She shivered through her teeth.</p>
<p>He dried her with a simple charm and grabbed a heavy quilt from his couch, laying it over her shoulders, “Have a seat I’ll fix us a cuppa. Milk? Sugar?”</p>
<p>“Bu…bu… both, please,” She managed, slowly warming herself near his fire. She glanced around, surveying her surroundings. His cup sat on an end table of dark mahogany getting cold. She presumed his favorite, a deep brown leather chair, the book he’d been reading lay open, draped over the arm. She’d interrupted his evening.  </p>
<p>She sank into the overstuffed couch covered in a dark blue and rich brown heavy upholstery. Books lined two of the walls, opening into a half wall to his kitchen where she could see him putting a kettle on the stove. The fireplace crackled with warmth. Hermione scrunched back into the deep cushions, wrapping the quilt tight. She yawned, and her stomach grumbled at the aroma coming from the kitchen. Her eyes closed, and she drifted off to sleep.</p>
<p>Antonin walked into the living room and sat across from her, placing two plates on his coffee table. Grinning at the sight of the little witch curled on his sofa. It was almost a shame to wake her. He knew she was exhausted. He levitated the tea and woke her anyway, “I thought you might be hungry, and as I was getting ready to fix myself something … Well, I thought you might like a cheese toastie.” Antonin smiled as he poured her tea, “I take it you’re not here because of some medical emergency then?”</p>
<p>“No, no medical problems,” She startled awake, eyes blinking, “But yes, and thank you, I am hungry,” She took her tea, watching him in wonder, the former Death Eater. His home was nothing like what she had expected. He was nothing like she expected. She nibbled at the crunchy cheese edges, peering at him through her drying curls and enjoying the comfortable silence between them. </p>
<p>Antonin sat back, balancing his cup on his knee. Finding a soaked Hermione Granger at his door on such a dark and stormy night proved to be a pleasant surprise. The girl had been at the forefront of his mind from the time he woke up. Now she sat across from him, picking at her cheesy toast through a curtain of dark curls. He didn’t want to scare her, choosing to stay silent, letting her steer the conversation.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Mr. Dolohov … I shouldn’t have interrupted your evening.”</p>
<p>“We share secrets, Hermione… I think you can call me Antonin.”  </p>
<p> “Antonin then, I still shouldn’t have interrupted your evening,” Hermione shrugged off the blanket from her shoulders, setting her plate on the coffee table, “Really I don’t know why I just showed up on your door.” ‘And fell asleep on your couch’ her internal monolog reminded her. </p>
<p>“Something must have chased you into this storm. Do you want to talk about it?” Something had spooked her, and Antonin had a hunch that it had to do with the dark magic she had been dabbling in. He could smell it on her, sweet, intoxicating lingering just out of reach. </p>
<p>Hermione mustered what courage she had left, “Yes actually … something did chase me into this storm. How much did you see in Ronald’s head?” The sound of his name felt like ash on her tongue. </p>
<p>“Enough to know that you’re very good at hiding the abuse that you lived with. But that’s not an issue anymore now, is it?” He watched her flinch, averting her eyes from his, “Besides it’s more of a feeling I have than what I witnessed.” Antonin leaned forward, placing his empty plate on the coffee table, “I’m the last person that would ever pass judgment, Hermione. I don’t know the fine details of that night. But what I did find I kept them out of my injury report,” He reached out a hand, placing it on her knee, “I have no intentions on divulging your secrets. I fully expected Potter to make his rounds at some point… I thought you were friends? But Potter didn’t know, did he?”</p>
<p> Tension in her body eased with the warmth of his hand on her leg, “No, I never said a word to Harry. No one knew. No one but you.” She sighed, meeting his gaze. The fire crackled, and the storm raged, pelting the windows now with hail. She could feel the tickle of the dark shadow that had followed her—waiting for her, outside in the darkness. The very thought of it caressing her spine. Whatever it was couldn’t push through the wards Antonin had in place.</p>
<p>Hermione reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his. She took a deep breath and blurted it out, “I used an Unforgivable.” </p>
<p>The corner of Antonin’s mouth twitched; his eyebrow raised slightly. He suspected she had used more than just one Unforgivable. But he would wait to see how much or how little she told him. </p>
<p>“Okay, okay, I may have used two… and more than once…, but I didn’t mean for it to happen that way,” Hermione stammered, “But I needed an appointment, and it seemed the best solution. I didn’t hurt anyone…”</p>
<p>Antonin couldn’t help but smile, “You’re not the first Witch to use a little Imperio to get something you wanted. That doesn’t make you a Death Eater.”</p>
<p>She worried at her bottom lip, reaching for her tea. She couldn’t bring her eyes back up to meet his. It was difficult for her to admit the catastrophic failure of her Obliviate, “I did something else besides the Imperio. But I need to explain. First, this isn’t easy for me… Do you have anything stronger than tea?”</p>
<p>Antonin chuckled this time, “Of course I do,” He still enjoyed an occasional drink. He stood and went back into the kitchen, going to the cupboard where he kept a bottle of Ogden’s finest. He grabbed two glasses. He had a feeling he was going to need that now rare drink. This time he sat next to her on the sofa, poured two drinks, and handed her one before sitting back to listen to her sordid tale.</p>
<p>Hermione took a cleansing breath and knocked back her whisky in one gulp. She didn’t shiver, nor did she grimace. She looked straight at Antonin, “I found out yesterday afternoon that I was pregnant,” She held the empty glass toward Antonin, who held back the grin as he filled it.</p>
<p>“I used the first Imperio to get that appointment, where I preceded to use it again on the physician and then on the nurse. The worst part was that it got easier each time I used it. I had thought about Obliviating them as I was leaving … I didn’t,” She stopped to check Antonin’s reaction. He had eased into the corner of the sofa, drink perched on his knee, reminding her of a cat, “That decision proved to be the one thing I managed to do right in the last forty-eight hours.”</p>
<p>Compassion and empathy for the young woman tugged at Antonin. Having glimpsed at the horrors she had lived with, “I would never judge you for the things you did to survive, Hermione.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t want anyone to know about the baby. Ronald would have insisted we keep it… please don’t get me wrong, under any other circumstances having a baby would have been wonderful, but, but not with everything as it was…” She stood up from the couch and moved to the window, “I wanted a divorce. I wanted to leave my husband and move far away from the Weasley family, and I couldn’t do that with a baby. Fucking hell! I couldn’t do that to a baby.” She sat on the windowsill with her back to the storm, little hairs standing on end. She felt its presence watching her from the shadows. She knew she needed to move this story along before it got brave and made an attempt at Antonin’s wards. </p>
<p>Hermione stood back up, rubbing her arms at the chill, glancing suspiciously at the darkness.</p>
<p>“Nothing will get through my wards Luv… Besides, “He said with a grin, “I’m scarier than anything lurking about out there.”</p>
<p>Hermione paused in her pacing to stare at the man, a shy smile crept to her lips, and she let slip a chuckle of her own, “You are terrifying … I forgot…” She moved to sit next to him on the couch, holding her glass out once more for him to fill. “If someone would have told me even a year ago that I would be sitting in your living room having a drink and confessing all my sins. I think I would have had them committed to Saint Mungo’s. Yet here I am… and you have been so kind to me,” Hermione tossed back her third firewhisky. When Antonin didn’t move to refill her glass Hermione filled it herself and pouring a far more generous portion. She cradled the bottle in the crook of her arm, leaning back to mimic his position at the other end of the sofa. Glass balanced on her knee, hoarding the bottle. </p>
<p>Antonin laughed out loud, “Are you going to share?”</p>
<p>“I can pour,” Her words slurring. She smugly tipped her glass toward him, “Cheers.” Settling back into the cushions before starting her story back up, “You tried to kill me once, no, twice… You’ve tried to kill me twice,” She leveled him with her gaze, taking a sip of her drink without losing the contact.</p>
<p>Antonin smirked while he took a small sip from his glass, “No I didn’t…” Draping his arm over the back of the sofa, he grinned back at her. Knowing full well what she was referring to.</p>
<p>Hermione stared back, slack-jawed, “OH! Oh, you most certainly did! I have a scar because of you,” She exposed the top of a breast, giving him a peek at the thin purple scar that crossed her chest.</p>
<p>Antonin found her indigency hilarious, “I never tried to kill you, Little Bird. If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be sitting on my sofa drinking all of my good whisky.” He hadn’t realized that his curse had left a scar. He kept his voice light, joking with her in her inebriated state, “Seriously, Luv I wasn’t trying to kill you, just slow you down. You really think I wanted to kill a pack of cheeky monkeys,” He had to laugh at that. </p>
<p>Hermione had finished off her glass and had started drinking straight from the bottle, “Be that as it may, I still have a very large hideous purple scar that you, Sir, are responsible for, and the second time you tried to kill me…” </p>
<p>“Was considered a battle,” He cut her off, “And all is fair in love and war, besides I wasn’t trying to kill you.” Antonin scooted forward and snatched the bottle of whisky from his tipsy guest, “As we’re comparing scars. I seem to remember getting quite a few because of you.”</p>
<p>“I never tried to kill you…”</p>
<p>“I had a headache for two weeks because of that half-arsed attempt at an Obliviate, the Dark Lord almost turned me inside out because of that, and I should have killed you. But believe it or not, I don’t kill children.” </p>
<p>“He used Crucio on you? Of course, he did… I’m so stupid… I’m so sorry…”</p>
<p>Antonin set the bottle on the table, scooting further until he could grasp both her hands, “No, Little Bird, do not feel sorry for the things you had to do to survive. Suppose you had let us catch you. That mad man would have killed you all. You did what you needed to do.”</p>
<p>It was Hermione’s turn to smirk, “That damned Obliviate,” She laughed, “It get’s me in trouble …every… single… time.”</p>
<p>Antonin held on to her hands, admiring the sparks dancing in her eyes. Flames from the hearth flooded the room in soft, warm light, highlighting the auburn streaks in her brown curls. The tip of her tongue darted out, licking her bottom lip. Antonin caught himself leaning into her. The urge to pull her into his lap was overwhelming. </p>
<p>Hermione leaned towards him, her face just inches away from his. She hiccupped and giggled, “Did my Obliviate work on you? It was rubbish, wasn’t it?” Hiccupping again, she sat back, grabbing the bottle and flopping back into the cushions.</p>
<p>“Well it managed to scramble my brain for a few weeks, but that was about it. I remembered you… As for Rowle, it’s hard to say he was always a bit of a prat.” Hermione kicked off her shoes, plopping her feet in his lap, “Was that the first time you tried to Obliviate someone?”</p>
<p>“No,” Her answer was sharp, “But that’s a story for another time,” She took a long pull on the bottle before looking at him again, “Let’s just say I like to use Obliviate, and it tends to go tits up every time. Consider yourself lucky that you didn’t end up in the Janis Thickey ward alongside Neville’s parents… and speaking of. I heard about what you did for them.”</p>
<p>Antonin flinched, “Not exactly something I wanted to get out. I didn’t do it for recognition. I did it for the selfish reason of soothing my guilty soul.” Antonin’s hands went to her tiny feet, rubbing circles with his thumbs to the soles. “I’ll let you in on a secrete of my own. I was never charged for attacking Alice and her husband. Barty and the Lestranges took the heat for that.”</p>
<p>Hermione relaxed into his touch, the whisky soothing her nerves and loosening her inhibitions, “I Obliviated my husband,” Her voice came out barely above a whisper. She took another swig from the bottle. “I Obliviated him twice, scrambling his brain… Like I said, I had just found out I was pregnant. I didn’t want Ronald or his family to find out. So I went to a muggle clinic hoping to terminate it.” Her words came in a flood. She knew if she hesitated, she would stop, “Ronald was drunk when I came home, and looking for a fight… bloody hell we fought before I left for work. It was my fault. I laughed at him when he forced himself on me in the shower that morning.” Hermione couldn’t look at Antonin, not wanting to see pity in his eyes. She took another sip of courage and powered on, “He attacked me, raped me in the kitchen and when he started to beat me I had to do something … I told him about the baby, of course, he called me a liar. I proved it to him, proved he was the father. He wanted to tell his mother. I couldn’t let that happen. You don’t know that woman she’s horrid, and to bring a child into that kind of disfunction … I just couldn’t do that.”</p>
<p> “Oh, Luv, I know Molly, but right now I won’t get into all the dirty little secrets I know about the Weasleys” He felt sorry for the little witch, wishing he could have prevented the horrors she had endured.</p>
<p>“So, in a panic, I Obliviated him. He must have hit his head when he fell. There was so much blood, and he had a seizure. I levitated him to the sofa and brought him around… but Antonin he wasn’t right. Ronald babbled incoherently. Nothing made sense. I should have taken him straight to hospital, and I know that. But then everyone would know, and I couldn’t let that happen,” She paused. “No one would have believed me. His mother blamed me for his drinking, and she blamed me when Ronald lost his job. She blamed me for not giving her grandchildren. I was the mudblood that ruined her precious son.” The heat from the fire, Antonin’s hands, and half a bottle of Ogden’s were lulling her to sleep, “Instead of doing what was right. I did the spell again. This time without anger.” She stared into the flames and continued her story, “Instead of fixing the damage, I made it so much worse,” Her eyes glistened in the firelight with unshed tears. “Ronald grabbed me by the throat… I fought … I fought, but I was losing, and it slipped out… the curse. I meant it when I said it, and I used it twice.”</p>
<p>“What curse did you use, Hermione?” He knew which one. He just wanted to hear her say it. Crucio left a scent. </p>
<p>“When I said it for the first time when I unleashed it, it felt sooooo gooood to punish him.” Hermione sat up and sipped at the dregs of whisky in her glass, “You know the curse Antonin, do I really need to say it out loud?” She reached for the bottle, “Gimmie, I need a refill if you want to hear about the rest of the shit show.”</p>
<p>Antonin quirked an eyebrow but handed over what was left in the bottle, “You’re right. I do know what curse you used, but that’s not the end of the story, and I’m pretty sure not the last curse you used. Is it?” <br/>Hermione chuckled, “I followed up with what appears to be my go-to curse,” She smirked, “Imperio. I’m quite good at it… Ronald stopped fighting and did as he was told. Drinking everything in the house, and when that was gone, he left in search of more. I didn’t lie about that part… I didn’t know he had left. I was cleaning up the kitchen.” Her voice drifted into the shadows of the room.</p>
<p>“When I was done, I went to check on him, and more I think to make sure he wasn’t hiding from me… getting ready to attack me again. I couldn’t take another round. But then you know that,” Hermione leaned back, curling her hands around the glass, “I looked for him, even ran down the street. But he was nowhere in sight. I had an idea of where he might have gone, and I had no intention of dragging him from that muggle pub and back home for round four, to be used as some fucking punching bag.” She shivered, even with Antonin’s warm hands on her toes. She took a long pull from the bottle before filling her glass and handing it back to him. The whisky was not doing its job. It burned going down, leaving her numb and cold, “I didn’t tell him to step in front of that bus. He did that all on his own.” Hermione pulled her feet from his lap. Quickly standing, she dropped the blanket to the floor, making her way to the window. She needed air. </p>
<p>Antonin watched her casually. Recognizing the tendrils of panic rising in his pretty guest, “None of this makes you a Death Eater Hermione…….Have you slept at all? Or, eaten anything besides what little you’ve nibbled at here?” </p>
<p>“No, not much,” She leaned out the window, into the storm. Closing her eyes against the rain as it battered the side of the building. The cold sea air on her face held the growing panic at bay. She hated these attacks. They were becoming awkward and harder to hide. Hermione took a deep breath and stared out into the storm. The little hairs at the back of her neck stood on end, and a malevolence slammed against the wards.</p>
<p> Hermione stumbled back, falling on her bum; her instincts were spot on. She knew something had followed her. She wanted another drink, but the whisky wasn’t doing its job, and she’d already drunk too much of it. Her head spun, pulse-pounding behind her eyes. Her mouth filled with saliva, stomach rolling. She spun around. Hiccupped and vomited onto Antonin’s rug. She stood frozen to spot, mortified and wishing she could just apparate away.  </p>
<p>“Oh, little bird… let’s get you cleaned up,” Antonin chuckled to himself. Now he really felt sorry for her, crumbled on his floor in a puddle of sick. She had put up such a strong front. Antonin took out his wand, vanishing the mess. Curious as to what had just tapped on his wards, Antonin approached cautiously. Whatever it was, it had slithered back into hiding.</p>
<p>  A flick of his hand and the window slammed shut, cutting off the onslaught of the storm. He reached down and plucked her from the floor. Pulling her to her feet before he scooped her into his arms. </p>
<p>Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck, doubt in her eyes, “Are you sure?”</p>
<p>“Am I sure of what Luv?”</p>
<p>“That I’m not slipping over to the Dark side… using the Unforgivables… killing Ronald.”</p>
<p>Antonin sighed, “Oh, Little Bird there is a lot more that you would need to do before you become a Death Eater… and you didn’t kill that sorry excuse for a husband.”</p>
<p>Antonin carried her to his bedroom and into the loo. Standing her at the sink, he reached into the cabinet. It was time for a Sober-up potion, a spare toothbrush, and a flannel, “Here, Luv, shower if you wish. Towels are in the cabinet. I’ll put something on the bed for you to sleep in… Don’t even argue you’re in no shape to be apparating. Let alone handle your little friend lurking around outside… I’ll take the couch.” Kissing her forehead before he turned and left her standing in front of the mirror.</p>
<p>Hermione stood in front of the sink, gripping the sides of the porcelain basin. She didn’t dare look up at her reflection. She knew it was bad. There were tears and snot, her hair a knotted mess from the wind and rain. Even though Antonin had vanished the mess, she still reeked of vomit. However, tempting it was to glance in the mirror, she averted her eyes, peeled off her clothes, and stepped into Antonin’s shower. </p>
<p>Where the whisky failed, the hot water was working, or maybe it was the Sober-up potion.</p>
<p>She felt better or at least smelled better. Toweling off her hair, she glanced into the bedroom. A comfortable-looking pair of flannel trousers and a t-shirt lay on the bed. She could have adjusted them to fit her smaller frame but found comfort in the larger size. Her tea and a fresh cheesy toast sat under a stasis charm on the bedside table. Hermione dressed, wrapped her hair in the big fluffy towel, and ran her hands under the down comforter. Slipping under the heavy covers and into the softest sheets she had ever felt. She propped herself up on the nest of pillows, curling her hands around the warm teacup. Antonin had pulled the heavy drapes for her. Obscuring the darkness, cocooning the room from the storm outside. Hermione’s stomach grumbled, and she tucked into her snack, careful of crumbs. She had already vomited on the man’s rug. Gods forbid she drip cheese on his beautiful comforter.</p>
<p> She was sober now, her tummy had ceased its complaining, but her head still buzzed from the amount of whisky she had drunk.  Hermione dropped the towel to the floor and scooted down, enveloped in Antonin’s scent. Reminding her that the Dark Wizard was just in the next room. She had confessed all of her sins, every horrible crime she committed in the last forty-eight hours. And he had rubbed her feet and teased her, cleaned her up and fed her. On any other night, she would have gone over the situation, over and over. Analyzing every detail until her head swam. Tonight, would be different. Tonight, she would snuggle into the nest of pillows and fluffy down and not overthink the evening’s details or the fact that tomorrow she would need to see to her late husband’s funeral details. The thought of Molly Weasley reared her ugly head, but she quickly smashed it down with the memory of Antonin’s mischievous grin. Damn him, she thought, for smelling so good. Hermione yawned and checked the alarm clock on the bedside table. It was three am. She closed her eyes and drifted off to the sounds of rain tapping the windows.</p>
<p>Scowling, as he added layers to his wards, pacing the length of the room. There would be floo calls to make in the morning because he had gotten a better look at what had followed her. And it pissed him off.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A/N. A big thank you to my sister across the ocean Lioness_Snake. She knows why this has taken me sooooo long to update and I apologize. I was caring for my terminally ill father and the last few months have taken a toll. But I'm back. So, I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and thank you for following me. I appreciate every comment and every kudo.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Whisky Tango<br/>
Chapter Eight</p><p> </p><p>We were young, we were lost<br/>
But we traveled not knowing the cost<br/>
Nothing behind us, just road ahead<br/>
Unashamed of the things that we did<br/>
Out in the Rain By Cory Marks</p><p> </p><p>Ensconced in the darkness, Antonin sat quietly in his favorite chair, staring at the window. The dying light from the fire cast an orange glow, illuminating the panes of glass lashed by rain. He would have preferred another whisky, but a little witch who currently occupied his shower had polished off the bottle. So, he sipped at the tea, eye twitching as the tattoo on his left arm moved.</p><p> It wasn’t the branding iron burn of the Dark Lord, more of an irritation but still there… reminding him of what might be slithering around out in the storm. He had known when Hermione was close, he felt the darkness she carried with her. What he hadn’t counted on was just how strong it was growing. He had set stronger wards just before she graced his doorstep. Pulling her inside as he caught a glimpse of the entity sliding into the alley. </p><p> </p><p>Her confession gave him clues as to why. Now he needed to pinpoint just what was following her. Antonin had an intimate working knowledge of Dark Magic. Yet he had never come across anything this sinister. </p><p> </p><p> Running water from the shower ceased, and Antonin listened as her soft footsteps entered the bedroom. Minutes ticked by before the creaking of the bedsprings signaled her crawling into his bed. He had fixed her another toast and cheese, freshened her tea all held in a stasis charm, and set out a pair of checkered flannel trousers and his favorite Stones t-shirt. With the sober-up potions and a full belly, he hoped she would sleep. The bedroom light shone brightly beneath the bedroom door as Antonin patiently waited for her to settle in. He didn’t want interruptions.</p><p> </p><p> Antonin grumbled, his curiosity getting the better of him. It never failed. He should have sent her home with a pat on the bum and gone about his life. But then that wasn’t like him at all. He felt himself getting restless, craving that pulse-pounding rush of dark magic. There was a mystery around Ms. Granger drawing him in. Antonin felt the snake on his arm begin to roll as the entity moved along the perimeter of the wards.</p><p> </p><p>The light under the door clicked off, and after another ten minutes, Antonin stood, moving toward the window. He leaned against the ledge staring out into the storm. It was close, but his wards were solid, and he hadn’t gotten this old by being a knobhead. He cast a shield charm before he opened the window. Slowly he pushed the sleeve on his left arm up.. The skull and snake glared back, writhing as he stuck his arm out into the storm.</p><p> </p><p>From the darkest edge of the building, it crept forward, cautious in its movements. Slithering, just a whisper of smoke as it caressed the edge of his wards, tapping at the shield charm.<br/>
“You’d like to come in, wouldn’t you… you bloody bastard,” He hissed through his teeth, “You’re supposed to be dead.”</p><p> </p><p>Black tendrils swirled, twisting into itself before it morphed into the rough shape of Ronald Weasley’s face. The pale skin stretched tight against the misshapen skull. Bloodred orbs glared back at Antonin before disappearing into the storm.</p><p> </p><p> Antonin growled in frustration and lit a cigarette. Something beyond dark magic had attached itself to Ronald Weasley. He paced, angry that he hadn’t detected it earlier. Or put the pieces together. The Dark Mark on his arm quieted down with the entities retreat, and Antonin sat back in his favorite chair. With the extra wards, there would be no breach.<br/>
Antonin’s mind raced. Was the entity using Weasley’s shape to shock, or was it a poltergeist? What he witnessed in the boy’s mind was truly dark, the violence and the abuse. But it was something else, something tinged in primordial evil. Ronald wasn’t just the run-of-the-mill drunken bastard. Nor was this just a piece of dark magic running amuck. He would need some help with this one.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t have many options. What he should do is contact the Auror’s department. That would mean Potter, “Fuck this,” He couldn’t go to Potter without revealing the truth about Weasley’s death. There was one person Antonin could count on and one person that might know how to handle Hermione’s dark friend. He scooped a handful of floo powder and tossed it into the flames. He knew who would be awake and would be precisely where Antonin knew he would be at four in the morning.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</p><p> </p><p><br/>
Corbin Yaxley stood in his modest kitchen, staring out the window and into the storm. Daylight still a few hours away, hail pelted the window and left him wishing he could crawl back into bed. As luck would have it, he was expected at work. Not that he wasn’t thankful because he was. Two years free of probation and his old job with the Ministry. Corbin slipped quickly back into his old life. Free of Azkaban and free of the hold the Dark Lord had over him. Corbin was one of the first inmates in the new program. Instituted by the new Ministry, they hadn’t reinstated him to his former post, but with a little hard work, he was confident he would make Chief D.I. in a few years.</p><p> </p><p>He poured himself a cuppa, watching the rain. Storms brought back the nightmares of Azkaban with its unrelenting rain and cold that chilled to the bone. His workload for today would bring a pleasant distraction with a pile of cases sitting on his desk. Interviews that he needed to conduct …</p><p> </p><p>Lost in thought, Corbin jumped as the fireplace crackled to life.</p><p> “Pour one for me, mate?” Antonin stepped through the brick mantel, dusting off his robes. He grinned at the tall blond. Corbin was more a brother than a friend, and they had grown up together pre-Hogwarts. Galloping their ponies across the countryside, terrorizing the sheep, and being a general menace to the local muggles.</p><p> </p><p>“Good morning,” Corbin grabbed another mug for the only wizard that could walk through his wards, “What do I owe the pleasure of such an early morning visit?”</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks, mate,” Antonin took the offered cup, leaning against the tile counter, “Can’t I just drop by for a cuppa?” Antonin was known to drop by for a whisky but not tea.</p><p> </p><p>“At four the morning? No… What’s up?” Corbin grinned, “Is it that spicy little Healer you hang out with? What’s her name? Padma? She’s hot.”</p><p> </p><p>“Padma is a colleague, nothing more. I need your opinion on something. A patient of mine, well, he was a patient anyway.”</p><p> </p><p>Corbin’s smile widened, “Well then can I have her?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, she’s not a crup, I can’t just give her to you…Besides, the lovely Miss. Patil is my friend, and I would never do that to her.”</p><p> </p><p>“Lier… I know you’ve had a wank thinking of those lips of hers. That’s not fair, you work with a bunch of beautiful witches, and I’m stuck looking at a bunch of fat bastards.” Not that Corbin had ever had any trouble with witches. He was tall, blond, and blue-eyed—the polar opposite of his best mate.</p><p> </p><p>“This have anything to do with the Weasley kid?” Corbin sat at the table. His friend wouldn’t have asked for an opinion without a good reason, “Or, would that be going against patient confidentiality?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not at this point. It’s all over the Daily and public knowledge… Anyway, yes, it is about Weasley,” Antonin took a deep breath and pulled out a chair at the table, “Before I show you… just so you’re not shocked. Granger is at my place.”</p><p> </p><p>Corbin kept his expression blank, “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me. Nor does it shock me that you are completely entwined in some epically fucked up situation.” A smile grew, “What would shock me, mate, is if you weren’t involved.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right?” Antonin had to laugh at himself. He did have a penchant for finding trouble, or was it trouble finding him.</p><p> </p><p>“So, a damsel in distress and a dead husband… tell me more.” Corbin leaned back to listen to one of his oldest friends tell him how he managed to get mixed up in another shit show. </p><p>“Enlighten me as to how the illustrious Mrs. Weasley ended up in your flat.”</p><p> </p><p>“Granger,” Antonin corrected him. He couldn’t bring himself to think of her as a Weasley.</p><p> </p><p>“She might be widowed, but she’s still a Weasley mate.” Corbin smirked, “Hey, isn’t that the little bird that managed to curse you twice?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah … something like that,” Antonin chuckled and lay his head against the cool wood of the table, “Thanks to her, I still get headaches. Why do I do this to myself?” He groaned and sat back up. Prepared to regale the entire incident. Including what he found in the Weasley boy’s head. Knowing Corbin would listen before weighing in on the situation. “Two days ago, Ronald Weasley rolled into my A and E. Heavily intoxicated, he had stumbled in front of a double-decker coming out of a pub …”</p><p> </p><p>True to form, Corbin stayed silent until he was sure Antonin was done.</p><p> </p><p>“… and that my friend is how the notorious Ms. Granger ended up in my bed.” Antonin refilled his mug. Looking up at Corbin, “Well? What do you think it is? Have you ever come across anything like this?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, I’d like to get a feel for it. Is Mrs. Weasley still in your bed?” Corbin pushed his chair back and stood, “I want to meet her. Let’s go.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ms. Granger… When you call her Mrs. Weasley, I think of Molly,” Antonin glared and added, “Don’t you have work, D.S. Yaxley?”</p><p> </p><p>“What’s wrong with Molly? She has great tits.” Corbin punched Antonin in the arm as he passed him, “Right, I do have work, but this needs my attention. So, hold on. I need to floo call my partner.”</p><p> </p><p>Antonin stood up and followed his friend back to the floo, waiting patiently for him to speak with his partner. Corbin came from a long line of law enforcement officers, following in his father’s footsteps just as he had done. Antonin always felt he had drawn his friend down the path to darkness, and he wouldn’t have blamed Corbin in the least if he never spoke to him again. Especially after the stint in Azkaban. But that wasn’t the kind of friend Corbin was.</p><p> </p><p>Finished with his call, Corbin got to his feet, “Shall we? I’m anxious to see this creature that’s following the lovely Ms. Granger.”</p><p> </p><p>Antonin grabbed a handful of floo powder, and they both stepped through and into Antonin’s living room. The fire had died down to glowing embers. Leaving the room cold and dark. Little hairs on the back of Antonin’s neck prickled, and his dark mark twitched. Curtains billowed around the opened window. The one Antonin had shut.</p><p> </p><p>Corbin breathed inward slowly, a smile crept to his face, “By the pricking of my thumb’s… Something wicked this way comes,” With a mischievous glint in his eye, he turned to Antonin, “What do we have here? You were right. You need some back-up,” Corbin moved toward the window, “Do you mind…”</p><p> </p><p>“No, but I suggest a shield charm.” Antonin circled the room, wand out. </p><p> </p><p>“Looks like it’s been trying to breach your wards?” Corbin looked impressed.</p><p> </p><p>Antonin nodded, “Yeah, I think it’s getting stronger… Not strong enough to come all the way in, though, but strong enough to piss me off.”</p><p> </p><p>Corbin set up his shield charm, approaching the window, repeating precisely what Antonin had done. His Dark Mark behaving in the same way, snarling and twisting, burning in response to the entity. He shut the window, dropping the shield charm, “Well mate, I hate to tell you this, but I’ve never come across anything like that… this can’t be from using a few Unforgivables. This is darker.”</p><p>A chill had fallen over the room, their breath rising in a white mist. Corbin was the first to speak, “Now this I’ve seen. This is a nasty poltergeist. Are you sure this isn’t that little wanker of a dead husband?”</p><p> </p><p>“From what I witnessed in his head, it might be. What do you know about blood magic?” Antonin pulled out his wand and began to reset the wards, “I need to evict this little cunt before he wakes Hermione.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, it’s Hermione now … What happened to Ms. Granger?” Corbin waggled his eyebrows, never one to miss the opportunity to take the piss out of Antonin, “Fine… Seriously though. Did she use blood magic?” If she did, Corbin was impressed. A member of the Order using blood magic was unheard of.</p><p> </p><p>“I think inadvertently. I don’t know her well, but I’m fairly certain it’s not something she would do. Not even out of desperation.” Antonin collapsed into his chair, flicking his fingers toward the fireplace to stoke the flames, “I think something has attached itself to Ronald.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you have coffee?” Corbin headed to the kitchen, making himself at home, “I need coffee.”</p><p> </p><p><br/>
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~                                                                             </p><p> </p><p>Hermione woke to voices, panic rising in her throat. Thoughts of the Auror’s bursting through Antonin’s door to drag them both off to Azkaban. She couldn’t live with herself if that were to happen. Her host didn’t deserve that. She lay there quietly listening, unable to make out what was said. She could only hear two voices, one being Antonin’s, both calm with a friendly tone. Her heartbeat slowed its frantic attempt to burst from her chest, and Hermione snuggled deeper into the feather comforter. Her eyes closing once more. Drifting off, only to open at the sound of her name being mentioned.</p><p> </p><p>She recognized the voice but couldn’t place it. Ronald’s name was tossed around with the aroma of coffee and cooking bacon. Hermione’s stomach growled, making the decision easy for her. They were talking about her. Besides, she needed to get her arse up and moving anyway. No matter how comfortable the bed was. Groaning as her feet hit the floor, eyes still blurry from sleep, she stumbled to the loo. Pulling her hair into a messy bun before splashing cold water on her face. The toothbrush from the night before sat on the edge of the sink. Working hard to avert her eyes from the mirror. Giving in to face the hollow reflection staring back at her. </p><p> </p><p>Not bad, she surmised with four hours of sleep in the last two days. She did feel better. Maybe Antonin would let her stay another night, she thought. Padding back into the bedroom, she rubbed at the goosebumps on her arms. She couldn’t meet company with her nipples poking out behind the thin cotton t-shirt. She helped herself to Antonin’s closet, picking out a muggle jumper. Dark blue, Shetland wool warmed her quickly. Now for a pair of socks. She rifled through his dresser until she found what she was looking for. Hermione sat on the edge of the bed to put the socks on when it hit her.</p><p> </p><p>The oddity of the situation, of who’s room she had taken over, she chuckled as she looked at her feet. Not only had she helped herself to the man’s closet, but memories of him rubbing her pink painted toes last night came flooding back. An intimacy she hadn’t experienced in an awfully long time. If ever. If she were to be honest with herself. He could have taken advantage, but he didn’t. As much as she had wanted him to kiss her, she knew it wasn’t right… not yet. Ronald wasn’t even in the ground. That was the plan for the day. Organizing the putting of Ronald to rest. Dealing with the Weasleys would require a certain level of caffeine, and in order for that to happen, she needed to get off the bed and go meet the new guest.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Both men turned as the door to Antonin’s room opened. Antonin’s first thought was that she was too damned cute wearing his jumper. Then chided himself for even thinking it, “Good morning Hermione. I’m sorry if we woke you… you can sleep longer if you like,” He couldn’t help but smile at her, “Tea or coffee?”</p><p> </p><p>“Coffee, please,” She looked sheepishly at the blue jumper, “I got cold. I hope you don’t mind. I borrowed a few things.” The sight of Corbin Yaxley was a huge relief. A familiar face and one she remembered. He was one of the first in her probation reform to be paroled and was often seen at the Ministry. Corban Yaxley was her first success story.</p><p> </p><p>“Not at all, Luv,” Antonin handed her a mug, “Have a seat. This…,” He motioned toward Corbin, “Is Corbin Yaxley, a close friend, someone I trust and someone who is willing to help with your little friend.”</p><p> </p><p>Hermione took the mug from Antonin in both hands, inhaling the rich aroma of the coffee and taking a sip before she greeted Corbin, “We’ve met on more than one occasion. Good morning Mr. Yaxley. It’s nice to see you again. I hope Antonin didn’t wake you.” She pulled out the chair nearest Corbin. </p><p> “No, I was up,” Corbin slid a plate of toast her way, “It’s no bother. I’m intrigued by this entity. It’s quite fascinating… like Antonin. I don’t think I’ve come across anything like it.”</p><p> </p><p>Corbin couldn’t blame his friend for being so smitten. Ms. Granger had indeed grown into an impressive young woman. He remembered her, of course, from the Ministry. The fierce little curly-haired witch in her fifth year. To the wanted posters in what should have been her seventh. He remembered the look in her eyes when she cursed Antonin. That fire that had burned so brightly now diminished. This bothered Corbin more than it should have. He was old and jaded like Antonin. They had seen it all. He understood now why Antonin had gotten involved. He recognized that look of defeat, the same one he had seen in himself while in prison. Ms. Hermione Granger was why he no longer resided on that frozen rock in the middle of the North Sea. It was her research that had set them free, and Corbin would do everything in his power to help her.</p><p>Hermione buttered her toast and reached for the bacon, “Did you have an opinion on it?”</p><p>“Yes, but mostly a guess. I do have some questions. If you don’t mind, we can go over a few now.” Corbin helped himself to the bacon. He was trying his best not to sound like the detective that he was.</p><p>“Not at all. My first thought was that it was Ronald,” Hermione sighed, “But I have a strange feeling it’s a bit more.”</p><p>“It is, and I need to ask this so, please don’t take offense. But did you use any blood magic?”</p><p>Hermione turned to watch Antonin, “No, no, maybe… I don’t know. I’m not sure. There was a lot of blood, but I cleaned it up. I didn’t do it on purpose…could that happen?”</p><p>“I don’t know just yet. After we eat, we can go over what you remember.”</p><p>Hermione looked nervously between the two men. Still not sure she could trust Corbin.</p><p>Antonin tried to reassure her, “I wouldn’t have brought him here or gotten him involved if I thought for a second he would have you arrested.”</p><p>“I’m not here to arrest you. I’m here to help you, Hermione.” </p><p>Tapping at the window drew Antonin’s attention. His owl stood on the ledge, soaked from the rain. Picking up a strip of bacon to bribe the bird. He opened the window. The little owl swooped in, grabbing the meat before dropping the Daily Prophet on the table. The headlines boldly splashed across the front page…  </p><p> </p><p>                       Memorial Service’s to be held this afternoon at one o clock for Ronald Bilious Weasley, beloved Member of the Golden Trio</p><p> </p><p>Hermione scanned the page, dropping her toast, rage boiling up inside, “That fuuuucking cuuuunt…He was my husband… how dare she … this is the last … this is the… I can’t, I just can’t,” She was seething, “She can’t do this …. She did this,” Hermione looked toward Antonin, “I’m going to kill her Antonin, I don’t care if I spend the rest of my life in Azkaban; I will murder that bitch!” </p><p> </p><p>“Let me see,” Antonin reached for the paper, “You can’t go to this.” He pulled up the chair next to hers, reading more of the details. </p><p> </p><p>“I have to go… I don’t have a choice.” She whispered, defeat in her eyes, anxiety rearing its ugly head. Damn the Weasley’s, she thought, damn them all. Especially Molly.  </p><p> </p><p>“Hermione, we don’t know what this thing is that’s following you. You can’t go.” Antonin recognized the panic flickering behind her eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“If I don’t go, it will be scandalous. These people think I murdered my husband, Antonin. If I don’t make an appearance, they will start digging… we both know what will happen if they dig.”</p><p> </p><p>“What happens if they dig Hermione?” Corbin asked. He had kept quiet, watching the interaction. </p><p> </p><p>“Did you tell him my sordid tale?” she questioned Antonin.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, he knows everything.” How many more would know her sins by day’s end, she wondered?</p><p> </p><p>Corbin spoke up, “I meant to say, is there anything else besides what you told Antonin?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, I told him everything…” Hermione’s hands trembled. She was all too aware of Corbin’s rise in law enforcement. Merlin’s hairy bollocks, she thought, he was the equivalent to a muggle homicide detective. And he was questioning her. She took a shaky breath. Looking Corbin in the eye, “I murdered him. I was responsible for Ron’s death.” </p><p> </p><p>“Hermione, you didn’t murder your husband… and I speak from experience here, so please believe me when I tell you this. Now you can be charged with manslaughter, maybe. Unless, of course, you pushed him in front of that bus… Did you?”</p><p> </p><p>Hermione glared back at Corbin, “No… I didn’t push him but… but I was the reason…”</p><p> </p><p>“Stop,” Corbin held up his hand, “You are not responsible… that’s not how the Imperious works. Did you tell him to drink? Yes. Did you tell him to leave the house? No, you did not. That was all Ronald. So, stop saying that you’re responsible.” He felt sorry for the girl. She had no idea how the Unspeakables worked.</p><p> </p><p>“I have to go to Ronald’s funeral. That bitch went behind my back and organized my husband’s funeral,” Her anger began to quell, sipping at her coffee, she looked back up at Antonin, “I won’t kill her. I promise I can control myself.” She reached out, laying her hand on top of his, “Help me?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>.<br/>
Six steps would lead Hermione to the entrance of Bagnell’s funeral home. She stood at the bottom of those steps, her heart in her throat. She knew they would all be there, and they would all stare. She wanted nothing more than to retreat to the safety of Antonin’s bedroom. Just six steps to the door, she took a deep breath and took the first step.</p><p> She could do this. Her hands stuffed in her pockets, her fingers wrapping tightly around the little tube of lip balm. Antonin had created just for her, a portkey. Her escape pod, if everything went tits up, and she was sure it would. Another step, she paused, turning away, ducking her head as co-workers and friends passed her. Silently cursing Molly Weasley for putting her in this situation. She felt a hand on the small of her back, and a voice whispered in her ear…</p><p> </p><p>“Hermione, it’s all right. Take my arm.” Corbin guided her to the landing. Having kept his distance until he witnessed her faltering, recognizing the anxiety beginning to build as she froze on the steps. Antonin was right to send him. She needed moral support above protection from the entity. </p><p> </p><p>Hermione let herself be guided by Corbin. Through the doors to face Molly and the rest of the Weasleys. </p><p> Molly, of course, had gone over the top. And Hermione was immediately hit with the syrupy, sweet stench of thousands of white lilies. They were everywhere. A spotlight shown on Ronald set center stage in a white casket, trimmed in gold. The whole thing reminded her of a Disney Prince, of which Ronald was most certainly not. All that was missing, she thought, were the bloody fucking forest creatures.</p><p>She would have laughed out loud if it weren’t for Corbin. The perfect gentleman. Shielding her as they entered the room. He escorted her to a row of chairs closer to the wall. To think she almost protested to his being here. Now she was thankful for his presence. Without him, Molly would have gotten the show she was pushing for.</p><p>Anger began to rise again at the audacity of her mother-in-law. Hermione wasn’t sure what kind of funeral she would have put together for Ron, but this wasn’t it. It was definitely something Ron would have wanted. Garish is what came to mind for her. This was a three-ring circus, in her opinion. There were entirely too many people as Molly had invited the entire population of Wizarding Britain. </p><p>“Take your time, Little Bird. I’ll wait right here.” Corbin’s whispered in her ear, calm and steady. </p><p> The room around her echoed with loud voices. The dulcet tones of Celestina Warbeck all blend before fading into the background. Her vision blurred, tunneling, and at the end of that tunnel lay Ronald in his gaudy white and gold casket, surrounded by the entire Weasley clan. Including Harry, his arm wrapped possessively around Ginny. To Hermione, Ginny looked positively deranged. She steadied herself, although thankful for Corbin. She would have preferred Antonin be with her, but as he pointed out, that would be adding fuel to the fire. Antonin had been right. Ginny was looking for a fight. </p><p> </p><p>Hermione could sit in the corner or face her head-on. The Weasleys had planted themselves next to Ron and didn’t look like they planned on going anywhere anytime soon. She stood up, straightened her cloak, and walked toward that gleaming white casket. Her breath catching, hands trembling as she fought to keep it together. She would not give Molly Weasley the satisfaction. She refused to let that old witch know that she had gotten under her skin.</p><p> </p><p>Hermione was correct. Ginny rounded on her as she approached Ron. The crowd that had gathered stepped back, forming a half-circle. Molly now had her audience. </p><p> </p><p>“Why are you even here, Hermione?” Ginny glared. “You never loved my brother. You never supported him… he was suffering just like your beloved Death Eaters… Had you ever thought of that Hermione … NO! You didn’t! You let him drink. You let him lose his job, and you never once tried to stop him…” Ginny stood mere inches from Hermione. Breathing heavy, from the tirade, “After figuring out the toxic side effects of Voldemort’s Horcruxes. You were quick to forgive his followers, but did it occur to you that Ronald may have been suffering the same? Did it, Hermione? You knew about it with Harry, but did you ever consider the same may have happened to Ronald,” Ginny seethed with anger, “You forgave all those Death Eaters. Convinced the Wizengamot to pardon them, gave them jobs!” Tears streamed down her face as she continued to scream, turning her furious gaze toward Corbin. “I have to walk down halls at the Ministry. And see them just walking around free as can be … Never mind that my uncles’ murderer is now a healer … A Healer Hermione! How can I trust that he didn’t murder Ronald! How can you even trust that he didn’t murder your unborn baby?” Harry swooped in to wrap his arms around Ginny, dragging her to a row of chairs, “Ginny now is not the place or the time for this conversation.” Mouthing the words, I’m sorry to Hermione. </p><p> </p><p>Hermione stood in stunned silence, unable to respond to Ginny. All she could do is stare at Ronald’s body lying so serene in the white casket. Of course, it was white, she thought. It could be nothing else for Molly’s little angel boy. Yet, she began to wonder how much of what Ginny had said was true. Not the part that Antonin would do harm to her child. That was on her. It was the thought that she misinterpreted Ronald’s behavior. That’s what cut the deepest. Hermione reached for his hand, curling her warm fingers around the cold dead ones of her husband.</p><p> </p><p>They were all watching her. Just like she knew they would with their whispers and their accusing looks. The tears, however, refused to come, no matter how hard she tried or how much she wanted them. Ginny was right about one thing, she didn’t love Ron and never had. Maybe she was right about him being affected by the Horcruxes. Perhaps he wasn’t, and it didn’t matter anymore anyway. He was dead.</p><p> </p><p>Hermione brushed a stray curl behind Ron’s ear. Shivering as she touched his skin. Nausea washed over her, with memories of the recent beating. She wanted to feel bad, wanting those tears. Wishing for the love of Merlin to look the part of the grieving widow. She could be as fake as Ronald looked, and he looked fake, she thought, pale, ice-cold, held under a stasis charm as if he were cold cuts. What was once Ronald was no more, and she bit her lip to stifle the giggle building deep inside. He had made her life miserable and fuck him. Fuck the Weasleys. She was done. Let them investigate her. Like Corbin had said, she didn’t push Ronald in front of that bus.</p><p> </p><p> Molly’s whimper tugged her back to reality. Hermione turned to face the portly matron. As they were center stage with all of wizarding Britain watching. She put on a look of concern. Grasping Molly’s hands in hers, “Thank you, Mum, for putting all of this together,” She leaned in, kissing Molly on the cheek. Feeling the woman squirm in front of her. Molly was livid but oddly wasn’t making a scene. Instead, she hugged her back.</p><p>“You’re welcome, dear… I try, you know … It’s what my Ronnie would have wanted, “Hermione caught her, glancing at Corbin anxiously, “Forgive Ginny, dear, she’s distraught.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s all so beautiful,” Hermione sobbed, dabbing at fake tears to continue with the façade. She ducked her head and retreated from the Weasleys. Heading straight for Corbin. She took his hand and let him lower her to her seat. Let them talk, she thought. She leaned into Corbin, “Get me the fuck out of here.” She’d had enough of the spotlight. She could find Harry later. </p><p> </p><p>Corbin was all too eager to oblige. The lilies were making his nose itch, and there were entirely too many people. Besides, Molly was beginning to stare. He smirked and gave her a wink, making her even more uncomfortable. Molly had a dark secret that only a few of his fellow Death Eaters knew about, which made her extremely nervous. Little did Hermione know. Antonin gave Corbin permission to let that secret out if things did go tits up. Lucky for Molly, she chose to behave.</p><p>Corbin took Hermione by the arm, heading for the double doors and fresh air. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br/>
May 3, 1998</p><p> </p><p>The morning after the final battle.</p><p> </p><p>Ronald walked amongst the castle’s ruin, the loss of his brother almost too much to bear. In an attempt to garner a little attention, he volunteered to look for a group of Slytherins, lost or trapped somewhere in the dungeons. He didn’t expect to find any alive. Not that he cared one way or the other. What he did care about, and the only light that he clung to was Hermione. Their kiss had all but consumed him. She would be his… forever. The smoke from the dying Horcrux hadn’t even settled when he pulled Hermione into his arms, pushing his tongue into her mouth. Maybe she kissed him back. Perhaps she hadn’t. Ron didn’t care at this point. He would marry her, shell shocked as she was. If he wanted to possess her, now was his chance. Lavender was dead. Of course, Lav had been his first choice, recently having rekindled their relationship and was approved by his mother as an acceptable match. Hermione would now replace her.</p><p> </p><p>He was going to be the hero in this story, not Harry. Harry was resting in the infirmary, Madame Pomphrey tending to the Chosen One. Fucking prat, he thought as he surveyed the damage to the staircase leading down to the Slytherin dorms. He knew it wasn’t the Horcrux making him imagine things. Something was going on between Harry and Hermione. Ron would show her. He would prove he was the better man.</p><p> </p><p> Ronald would be the one to find the children buried in the rubble. He picked his way down a pile of stones, clambering through the shattered walls, searching for survivors. Slipping on a damp rock, his arm slammed into a broken, wooden beam, driving the splintered end deep into his flesh. Ronald howled, jerking his arm from the spear of wood. Blood streaming, he ripped a piece of fabric from his shirt, tying it snug around the wound. Breathing heavy, he stood for a moment to catch his breath, listening in the darkness. Nothing showed beyond the bright blue from the tip of his wand. ‘Hello,’ he called out. Echoes of his voice and the drip of falling water answered. He would need to go deeper. This time he would go slower and focus on his task. Timidly he took the first steps deeper and deeper into the broken maw of the castle.</p><p> </p><p>He thought of Hermione, waiting for him to return. The feel of her breasts when she had clung to him. He hadn’t imagined it. She had even held his hand. Maybe she had kissed him back. He would kiss her again as soon as he was done. Just to make sure. His mind began to wander as he made his descent. Drifting to Hermione and how next time he would feel her tits. She was a slut. His mother knew it. She had even warned him that only a slut would be alone with two boys, and when Ronald left, Hermione should have gone with him. It wasn’t proper, or at least that’s what his mum thought. Oh yes, he thought. She was a slut. He would bet ten galleons that the little slag would let him play with her pussy… or suck his cock… Ronald stopped. A deep moan rumbled in his throat… rubbing at the bump at his crotch.</p><p> </p><p>Ronald was no longer paying attention. Blood dripped from the wound and onto the rocks, where Ronald stopped to catch his breath again. Pooling beneath his shoe. His hand reached out, one foot lifted, he slid down into the darkness. Losing his wand to stop the plummet, his hands grabbing for anything and finding nothing to stop the fall. He landed in a heap on hard stone tiles, wand plunking down next to him. He found it in the darkness and whispered Lumos. His tumble had dropped him back into the Chamber of Secrets. Back to where she had kissed him, or he had kissed her, he couldn’t remember. His head was bleeding now, and the bandage on his arm had come off. He needed to find a way out. No broom this time. He doubted he could climb, but there was no other way. He turned to leave when a glint of gold caught his eye. He tilted his head and squinted his eyes. It couldn’t be what he thought it might be. He had watched Hermione destroy it. He had seen Voldemort’s fractured soul turn to dust. But there, in the light of his wand, lay the curled handle of what looked like the cup.</p><p> </p><p>He took a few tentative steps toward the glowing gold handle that twinkled in the cracks of jagged stone. On his knees now, he pried at the largest stone, fingers slick with blood. It lay just out of reach. Ronald pushed deeper into crag, his fingers curled around the handle, and he tugged. Pulling free the golden handle of what looked like Helga Hufflepuffs cup made Horcrux.</p><p> </p><p>He held it up to the blue, glowing tip of his wand. It looked like the handle from Helga’s cup. If it were, it would make a nice souvenir. He hesitated for a moment turning the object over in his fingers, squinting his eyes again at the shiny gold handle. Then without a second thought, Ronald stuffed the broken Horcrux in his trousers.</p><p> </p><p>Ginny’s voice echoed from above, cutting through the dark cavern. Ronald called back. He wouldn’t have to climb out after all. Ginny swooped down on her broom, skidding to a halt.<br/>
Ronald hugged her, “Thank Merlin, I’m bleeding out.”</p><p> </p><p>“How the bloody hell did you get down here? What the fuck Ron? Everyone’s been looking for you… Come on, Hermione is worried sick.”</p><p> </p><p>Ron smiled at the thought of Hermione. He was right about her. A smug grin plastered to his face as he swung a leg over the broom just behind his sister. His wounds were sure to catch some sympathy.</p><p> </p><p>Deep in Ronald’s back pocket, the golden handle gleamed, softly vibrating as the bloody fingerprints absorbed into the metal. </p><p> </p><p>                                                                                                                                                                                     `</p>
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